


like fingers in your mouth

by alovelessgame



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, major handwaving of the immigration/green card application processes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-04-08 18:59:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4316055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alovelessgame/pseuds/alovelessgame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler gets deported on a Monday, married on a Tuesday, and falls in love on a Wednesday. Summer never was his season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inevitable ever since the bennguin phenomenon sucked me in like the La Brea tar pits.
> 
> Title is from "Harlem" by New Politics. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as thunder-strange and at twitter @thunderstrange

When Tyler stumbles into Dallas’ airport, still hungover from the tequila at his goodbye party and feeling more than a little sorry for himself, the first thing he notices is how _dry_ the air is. Years spent in Boston’s humidity leaves him ill prepared for the way the early July air seems to suck out what little moisture was left in his mouth. He hacks out a dry cough, much to the disgust of the people directly in front of him, and mumbles an apology. Five seconds on Texas soil and he’s already managed to piss off a couple of people. It’s a new personal best.

The line at baggage claim is pretty long and most of his valuables are stuffed into his carry-on anyway, so Tyler takes the time to check the messages on his phone. There’s an emoticon-saturated text from Candace that might vaguely translate to _I heard about the trade_ and _you’ll do great in Dallas!!_ , one from Brownie that just says _call me bro_ , and about forty others from different people with varying levels of commiseration about his situation. Which is totally not something Tyler fucking needs right now, so he’s quick to delete and block the numbers. The line’s lightened up some and just as he’s putting his phone back into his pocket, it begins to vibrate violently. An unknown number pops up and Tyler is half-tempted to just block it outright before he reads the little blurbs.

_[Unknown] Hey, I just wanted to welcome you to the team and to Dallas! I got your number from the front office, I hope you don’t mind!_

_[Unknown] This is Jamie, by the way._

_[Unknown] Jamie Benn._

_[Unknown] But you can just call me Jamie. We’re going to be lineys, after all!_

_[Unknown] You know what, just ignore the previous messages. This is Jamie Benn. Welcome to Dallas. I’m happy you’re here._

All the messages were sent within seconds of each other and their perfect grammar and punctuation makes something in Tyler’s chest loosen just a little. He doesn’t really know Benn, played against him but never paid him any special attention, but his messages seem to ooze of dorkiness and if there’s one thing that Tyler can handle, it’s a fellow dork. So he texts Candace _skype sess_?, and to Brownie _give me a couple of hours_ , and to Jamie? Well, to Jamie he just writes _thank you_.

 

*

 

The next several hours of Tyler’s life are the most exhausting he’s ever experienced. There’s a lot of handshaking and photo taking and sucking up and not-quite-undercurrents of _we’re betting a lot on you_ and _please don’t fuck it up_ being passed around. Even flirting with a couple of the journalists doesn’t help to improve his mood and the evening finally finds him alone in his hotel room, eating shitty Chinese food and watching _Bride and Prejudice_ on cable. He spares a moment to think about what the Boston trainers would say if they saw him eating the mandarin beef and shrimp chow mein and takes another bite with relish. He’ll just have to make sure that any of the weight he’s gained from emotional eating is off in time for training camp and no one will be able to tell him shit. The movie is nearly over when his laptop lets out a sharp ping beside him and he accepts the skype call without looking away from the tv.

“This movie, dude? You must be really depressed then.” Brownie’s slouching down in his bed, pillows and comforter building a veritable fortress around him.

Tyler snorts. “Shut up. It was already on.”

Brownie nods slowly, his eyes taking in the decimated white boxes surrounding Tyler. “Uh huh, and what about the Chinese?” He leans to the side, like physically moving will let him see more of the room. “Was it just there too? What about the chocolate I know you have hidden somewhere –“

Tyler turns the laptop to face the door and empty hallway. “There. Now you can say you had plausible deniability.”

“Aw, c’mon man, you know I was just joking!”

The whining tone makes Tyler really smile for the first time in what feels like years. “Yeah, I know.” Turning the laptop back around, he mutes the credits and flops back onto the bed. The silence stretches.

Brownie clears his throat. “So…how is Dallas treating you?” The question sounds forced.

When did it get to this point, Tyler wonders, where even his best friend doesn’t know how to talk to him? He swallows down the lump in his throat. “Fine. The upper echelon saw fit to grace me with their presence. I got a new hat out of the deal, at least.”

Brownie laughs, the tone tinny through the speakers. “Who knew you could be so easily bought, Seggy?”

And just like that, just for a moment, it feels almost like nothing has changed. Like Tyler hadn’t ruined his life; like he hadn’t been dropped from his beloved team like so much garbage.

Like he hadn’t alienated the people he loved the most in the process.

He must’ve been quiet for a beat too long because Brownie’s eyes narrow in worry. “Really, Seggy, is everything okay? Like, I know the situation is fucked up, but you can handle it. This is just a part of the life, yeah?”

Tyler flips to his side, finally facing the laptop. He looks like a ghost in the reflection cast on the screen - pale and tired and wrung out - the bags around his eyes as dark as bruises. He winces and rolls back over again. No wonder the Fox sports lady had politely ran away from him.

“I know that, but I just never thought it’d happen to me. Thought I’d retire a Bruin, ya know?”

“Yeah, well, I’d thought I’d be in the NHL by now but look at me.” There’s no anger or resentment in Brownie’s voice but the words cut like a knife anyway. Here Tyler is, moping on a hotel room bed because he got traded, when there were amazing people like Brownie who were still trying to break into the league. The shame that had finally begun to dissipate over the last few hours comes back with a vengeance. “And I know the Stars aren’t that great, but I heard their captain’s a pretty good guy, so…” Brownie trails off, like he’s waiting for Tyler to object to calling anything in Dallas _good,_ but this may be the one thing they can agree on.

“I heard from him earlier.” Tyler swipes his arm across the head of the bed where he’d tossed his phone before taking a shower. “He’s such a fucking dork, I can already tell.” One last swipe and he hears the tell-tale thunk of plastic hitting carpet.

Brownie takes a moment to wolf-whistle when he bends halfway off of the bed to retrieve it, but quickly returns to business. “I don’t know about that, dude. I’m a nerd and you’re a geek. Do you _really_ think we should complete the white-boy trifecta?”

Tyler jostles the screen up and down, grinning when Brownie squawks in protest. Ignoring Brownie’s claims of motion sickness (he threw up on a plane _once_ and has been pulling the kinetosis card ever since), Tyler thumbs through his new alerts. There’s a text from Candace asking if he’s going to be coming home next weekend and an email from his agent telling him to call his office, but nothing new from that unknown number. He inputs it in as _just jamie_ , snorting a little at his own joke.

“What are you laughing at?” Brownie has apparently lost interest in faux complaining to someone who won’t play along. “What did he say?”

It’s an innocent question, but telling Brownie that Jamie had texted him and reading the texts out loud are two completely different things. Maybe it’s because Tyler has nothing left that’s private, his twitter and facebook shut down and everyone talking about his business, that had given birth to this reluctance. It said something about the state of his life that those five texts from _just jamie_ were the only things left that were his and his alone – besides maybe Marshall. He shrugged and tossed the phone back onto the mattress. “Nah, man. He didn’t really say anything.”

“That’s okay,” Brownie nodded.

And for a moment, Tyler believed him.

 

*

 

Tyler wakes up early to meet with the Stars staff that are still around for the off-season and to tour the AAC. It’s a pretty nice arena but nothing in it can compare to the Garden, to _home_ , so Tyler ignores everything that isn’t directly related to the locker room or the ice out of sheer spite. His silence must be giving off some serious vibes because the manager giving the tour gives up after about an hour of being stonewalled and cuts him loose. It’s not the most mature thing to do, Tyler thinks, but anyone who thinks he’s going to pretend to be happy with being exiled to bumfuck nowhere has got another thing coming.

He’s supposed to meet with a real estate agent in a couple of hours to look at some condos, but ends up booking the first ticket to Toronto he can find the moment he gets back to his hotel room. The agent is less than excited when he calls to cancel their appointment, her sycophantic tone wavering just a bit, but she perks up again when he mentions possibly upping his price range. She’s fast to assure him that she can email him some pictures and promises to get right to work.

“Probably already figuring out her commission check,” Tyler mutters to his empty suitcase.

Sadly, the suitcase does not answer him back.

 

* 

 

Tyler is in Brampton a grand total of five minutes before his phone starts lighting up. It costs an arm and a leg to take a cab from the airport to his parent’s house, but it’s totally worth the chance to sneak into his childhood bedroom unnoticed. It’s not really his bedroom anymore - the old posters and jerseys are boxed up, the walls no longer a dark blue and the space converted into a nice guestroom – but the view from his window still looks the same. He can hear Marshall barking manically in the backyard, terrorizing that family of squirrels that only seem to get a reprieve during the season.

Candace finds him an hour later, laying back against the headboard and listening to the drone of the quiet conversations downstairs. He’s prepared for her to ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, sneaking into their home like a particularly inept thief, but she just closes the door and joins him in his contemplation of the wallpaper. The late-afternoon sunlight is starting to diffuse through the canopy of cottonwoods outside when she finally turns to him.

“I thought we were going to have a Skype session.”

Tyler tries to grin, but even he can tell it falls flat. “I’m here. Isn’t that so much better?”

Candace looks at his phone, the silent mode doing nothing to disguise the way it keeps lighting up with alerts every few minutes, and frowns. “Depends on how much trouble you’re going to get in.”

Tyler snorts unkindly. “I’m not sure there’s much more that I can fuck up, sis.” He flips the phone over to hide the screen, out of sight out of mind. “It’s probably just my real estate agent, trying to sell me some overpriced ‘turn-of-the-century modern’.”

“She does know that’s an oxymoron, right?”

“Who do you think spent all of last summer watching HGTV with you?” He gasps when Candace makes an ‘ehh’ motion with her hand. “Excuse you?”

She still giggles the same way she did when she was four and Tyler would chase her down and tickle her until she cried uncle. He feels something in his chest constrict painfully.

“I think you should try to find a place yourself.” She pauses, like she’s trying to find the best way to phrase what she’ll say next. “Or…you could take me with you when you go back down there.”

Tyler snorts. “Like you wanna go to _Texas._ Don’t you have plans with your friends for the summer?”

Candace just shrugs, red fingernails plucking at the loose threads on the comforter. Time was, Tyler thinks, he used to know what went on in her head. Even though he left home early and wasn’t around nearly as much as he wanted to be, he had always had a special connection to Candace. Whether it was just time or his actions that caused this rift, he didn’t know. “What’s going on, Candy, did someone say something to you?”

She snorts, unladylike in a floral summer dress. “Oh please, Ty, I can take care of myself. I just thought it’d be nice to have a change of scenery.” The sound of the front door slamming reverberates up the stairs and Tyler glances at the clock. It’s getting close to suppertime and he can smell something cooking in the kitchen, making his stomach twist in on itself with hunger.

Candace slides off the end of the bed and heads towards the door. “That’s probably Cass. If I were you, I’d sneak out the front door before she lets Marshall in and he rats you out to mom and dad.” She stops in the doorway and turns to him, assessing. “And Tyler?”

“Yeah?” he croaks.

“Answer your goddamn phone.”

 

* 

 

Tyler does not _answer his_ _goddamn phone._ He shimmies out his old window and into the bough of a cottonwood before making his way through the side-yard towards the front. Marshall catches a glimpse of him and nearly rams through the backyard fence, but Tyler manages to dart around the corner just as his dad’s coming out to see what Marshall is losing his shit over. Having to make the decision of whether or not to ring the doorbell at your own childhood home is not one that Tyler would wish on many people, but he knocks on the solid oak, just to be sure. Casual, but not too casual, he thinks when Cassidy opens the door and nearly bowls him over.

Home, but not quite home.

He spends the next week and a half ignoring anything that has to do with his phone (and subsequently ignoring Candace’s disappointed looks _for_ ignoring his phone), eating as much home cooking as he can fit in, and getting his ass kicked by his sisters’ gaming skillz. Of course, the whole ‘ignorance is bliss’ idiom can only stand up as long as _ignorance_ remains the main tenant, which is a bubble that bursts rather spectacularly on a sweltering Monday morning.

Tyler is fighting with his sisters (again), who are fighting with each other ( _again_ ), through the bathroom door. The sweat from his morning run is already well on its way to drying and quickly turning uncomfortable, but Candace and Cassidy have locked themselves in the hallway bathroom and are arguing over who gets control of the makeup mirror. Tyler’s sitting slouched against the hallway wall, trying to work out a cramp in his left calf while making his argument for a shower that’ll _only take two minutes, goddamn it_.

Even through the door he can tell that their laughter is at his expense, which, _whatever_. He could totally take a two minute shower.

If he had to.

He’s just starting to consider going downstairs to get some breakfast, rank sweat or not, when the doorbell rings. There’s a lull in the noises coming from the bathroom, so Tyler can hear his dad’s polite _oh, hello_ when he opens the door. There’s a quiet conversation and Tyler shrugs it off, figuring it’s probably the next door neighbor complaining about their sprinkler system overwatering again, when his dad appears over the landing. He looks grim and flushed in a way that he only gets when he hears about Tyler’s latest fuckups and Tyler freezes in the middle of his quad stretch.

“We’ve got a problem.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really surprised by all the wonderful comments, bookmarks, and kudos this little fic has received. Know that every single one of them has meant everything to me!
> 
> Again, there is a major handwaving of the green card/immigration processes. This is best explained as: I looked up the guidelines and thought 'nah, not exciting enough' and changed them to fit.

Lindy Ruff and Jim Nill are sitting in his living room and Tyler kinda wants to die a little. His dad looks about two seconds away from having an aneurysm and his mom is nervously fidgeting with her necklace and Tyler’s just sitting on the couch, stewing in his own rank sweat and fighting the urge to vomit.

Ruff clears his throat, “We tried to get into contact with you last week, but you never returned any of our calls or emails.”

Tyler thinks of his phone, stuffed into the side compartment of his suitcase and more than likely dead, and doesn’t feel any guilt. It’s been a nice week with his family with no google alerts or nasty articles to linger over his time with them. Still, he knows it’s another strike against him and that it was an immature thing to do. “If it makes you feel any better, sir, you’re not the only ones I’ve been ignoring.”

Nill huffs out a surprised laugh but Tyler’s dad looks like he’s about to lose his shit in a spectacular fashion. Tyler pointedly doesn’t look his way.

“Well, at least you’re being honest, kid.” Nill shuffles the stacks of papers, like reorganizing them will make everything on them make some sense. “So here’s what we’ve got. Your green card to work in the U.S. was tied into your Boston contract, which means that it dissolved when your contract with them did. We thought it would transfer to the Stars organization, but you left the country before we could figure that part out and now you cannot legally work in the States.”

“Which means no hockey,” Ruff interjects.

Nill nods calmly, like he tells this kind of stuff to people on a daily basis. “Which means no hockey.”

Tyler’s not sure if an ulcer can spontaneously form, but his stomach seems to be giving it the old college try. “But – but how long could it really take to get a new card? I mean, I don’t want to sound narcissistic or anything, but I’m a fucking hockey player in the NHL! Can’t they help?”

“Ah, but that’s the rub, kid.” Ruff leans forward, like the news he’s imparting is a secret. “The Bruins management had to vouch for you to keep your card when you worked for them – fill out forms and such – but they weren’t exactly the kindest when it came to their evaluations of you.”

Tyler’s dad starts to sputter, “Most of what they said is bullshit and everybody knows it!”

“It’s the United States government,” Nill runs a hand over his mustache, tugging at the ends. “It’ll take some time to undo the damage that’s been caused and get a new one issued –“

“How long?” Tyler winces at the thought of losing time training with the Stars staff, learning the routine and settling in before the season begins.

Nill waved his hand. “Could be up to a year.”

Tyler’s world narrows down to a pinpoint and for minute he’s deafened by the rush of blood in his ears. “What do you mean _a year?”_

“Bureaucracy. Every immigration lawyer we talked to said that it could take up to a year to dispute and process your claims, no matter your level of celebrity.” Nill tugs again at the end of his moustache and all Tyler can think, rather hysterically, is _you’re gonna pull it off._ His mom has started to cry quietly. It makes Tyler feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet.

“I’ve gotta –“ He’s up the stairs before his father can utter a word, although he does hear Nill’s gruff _let the kid go_. He pulls Marshall into his old bedroom and locks the door, burying his face into his fur. He closes his eyes and does not think of anything at all.

 

* 

 

Having lunch with your new GM and coach when your eyes are nearly swollen shut is probably considered an embarrassing event, but Tyler is just too tired to care. Ruff and Nill leave to go back to Dallas with awkward handshakes and promises to try to sort everything out as soon as possible.

Tyler spends the next four days hiding in his bed.

On the fifth day, he pulls his phone out of his bag and charges it. When it finally turns on it freezes from the sheer amount of texts, calls, emails, and voicemails it has on it. Tyler thumbs through them lazily, disregarding the emails from his real estate agent ( _there’s no need for that anymore_ ) and the variations of _wtf bro, you were deported??_ texts from his Bruins teammates. It’s probably not fair to punish them for what their organization did, but Tyler is too numb to give a shit anymore. He flat out purges his email and voicemail inboxes, since Ruff or Nill will leave a message on the home phone if it’s really urgent, and sends a _sorry i went mia on you, some shit happened_ text to Brownie.

Brownie’s _no fucking duh, dude_ is completely expected.

Tyler finally pauses when he finds the texts from _just jamie._ The first one is a simple _Why did you leave Dallas?_ , time stamped a couple of hours after he’d left for Brampton. _I thought we could meet up when I got in from B.C._ The next few texts were sent sporadically, like Jamie was unsure of his welcome.

_[just jamie] Have you found an apartment yet? There’s a really nice condo in my building that’s for sale right now._

_[just jamie] Jordie just cooked supper and I’m 99% sure that I’ve been poisoned. Please keep this text for evidence and tell Dateline that I want Keith Morrison to narrate my story._

_[just jamie] I just got off the phone with Jim and Coach Ruff._

_[just jamie] Don’t worry, Tyler. I’ll fix this._

Tyler’s thumb presses ‘call’ before his brain can catch up to what he’s doing. There’s a second of silence before some god-awful country song starts playing and Tyler has just enough time to think _what the fuck am I doing?_ before the song cuts off.

“’lo?” Jamie’s soft voice is thickened with sleep.

Tyler glances at the clock. It’s five in the morning here – four in the morning in Dallas – and promptly feels like a tool. “I’m sorry man, I didn’t realize it was this early. Just go back to sleep – “

“No, no, it’s okay.” Jamie sounds a little more awake and Tyler can hear the shifting of the sheets as he sits up. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

It’s quiet for a moment while Tyler tries to figure out why he even called in the first place and Jamie sounds like he’s struggling to stay upright, before he finally blurts out, “I got your texts.”

“Oh.” Jamie sounds half-asleep again, like he’d nodded off sometime during the awkward silence. “I wasn’t sure if you were even using that number anymore?”

“I was…I was just hiding out.” Tyler winces. He didn’t mean to say that.

There’s a pause on Jamie’s end and then, “I understand.”

Tyler can’t detect any judgment in his tone, but the last thing he needs is his new captain thinking he’s some wilting flower. “I mean, I just had some things going on here and –“

“I understand, Tyler.” Jamie interrupts, and Tyler chokes down the rest of his words. “You’ve been through a lot these last couple of weeks. It’s understandable that you’d want a little time away.”

_Jesus Christ_ , Tyler thinks, _is this guy for real?_

Jamie’s soft tone turns wry. “You know, if you didn’t want to grab a bite to eat with me you could’ve just said so. There was no need to flee the country.”

Tyler barks out a laugh before he can catch himself. The walls between his and Candace’s rooms have always been a little too thin. “Man, I wish you would’ve told me that _before_ I had my card revoked. Then again, I would’ve been trapped in Texas and I’m not sure that’s much better.”

Jamie’s laughter seems genuinely delighted. “It does take some getting used to, I’ll give you that. It’s a lot different than Victoria but everyone’s pretty nice so…,” Tyler can hear the sheets shift; tries to imagine Jamie’s massive shoulders as he shrugs which, _okay,_ that is an interesting thought.

Jamie seems like the type of guy who’s comfortable with silence so Tyler closes his eyes, listens to the sounds of his breathing. It’s almost like having someone in bed beside him and he always did sleep better with company. After a few minutes, Jamie’s breathing starts to even out and Tyler debates whether or not to say anything before he hangs up. It seems rude to just leave his new captain hanging so he says, “Jamie?”

Jamie hums, like he’s awake enough to acknowledge that Tyler said something but far enough asleep that he can’t reply. He feels a sudden surge of warmth in his chest for this dude who’s practically a stranger to him, but who answered his call in the early morning hours and tried to comfort him while still half-asleep and promised to fix everything and –

“Thank you,” Tyler whispers and waits to hear Jamie’s soft snores before he ends the call. He lays back down and sleeps deeply for the first time in nearly a week.

 

*

 

By the time Tyler wakes up and stumbles into the shower, it’s nearly noon. The house is deserted, his mom and dad are at work and his sisters are spending time at the local pool, so he grabs a quick bite of leftovers from the fridge and heads back upstairs. Marshall’s already made a nest out of his blankets in the fifteen minutes he’s been gone and seems well on his way to an afternoon nap, so Tyler grabs his phone and stretches out across the foot of the bed. It takes an hour but he manages to pare down his texts to a reasonable number, mostly consisting of those from Ruff, Nill, Brownie, and his new captain.

There’s a couple of emails from Jim Nill, checking up on him and informing him that the Stars lawyers are _still_ trying to figure out what the hell to do, a lone voicemail from Coach Ruff saying _I don’t care what the circumstances are, while we’re getting this shit figured out you better keep up with your conditioning,_ and about ten texts from Brownie, each one a variation of _call me right the fuck now._

The last one was sent at eight in the morning which is pretty disconcerting considering you can’t _drag_ Brownie out of bed before noon, game day or no game day.

Tyler taps out _u ok?_ and Brownie Facetimes him almost immediately.

“What the fuck, dude? What took you so goddamn long?” Brownie looks, to put it mildly, like total shit. There are bags under his eyes and his hair looks like he stuck his finger in an electrical socket. There are three laptops and at least six huge books covering the floor of his bedroom. Tyler feels like he’s missed something important.

“Are you okay, man? I got your –“

Brownie shakes his head. “Nah, man, I’m fine, in fact I’m fucking ecstatic! I think I’ve found a way to get you back to Dallas!”

Brownie’s tone is slightly hysterical, but Tyler still starts to feel a shred of hope. “What did you find?”

“You remember Ivan, the Russian with the unpronounceable last name?”

Tyler nodded. Over the years he had gotten used to playing with people with strange names, but Ivan’s last name had so many vowels in it that trying to pronounce it resulted in a sound like trying to gargle rocks.

“Well, he got married a while back to a girl he knew back home. He has some fancy-schmancy job here, so his wife applied to piggyback on his green card so she could come to America and work.” Brownie pumps his fist in victory. Tyler is still confused.

“So…you’re saying I need to find a girl and get married?”

Brownie puffs up in his oversized sweatshirt, like Tyler has just insulted his honor. “I just found a way for you to keep playing in the NHL, dude, there’s no need to take that tone with me!” Brownie slams one of the books closed.

“Hey, man, you know that isn’t what I –“

“Yeah, yeah.” Brownie’s picking up the books – legal tomes now that Tyler can see the titles – and shoving them onto his bed. “Unless you worked pretty fast in your 12 hours down there, I doubt there’s a girl who’d be willing to put up with your ass, fake marriage or no fake marriage.”

Tyler nods. Not many of his relationship (past and current) have ended on a good note. “I could try asking Karen –“

“Nope,” Brownie laughs. “You dumped her in the middle of the team Halloween party, remember?”

Tyler can’t believe he’d forgotten the volume of her screams as he’d darted out to a cab. The guys had given him shit about that for _months_. “I forgot about that. What about you?”

Brownie shrugs. “I would, but I’m stuck here in Philly. Maybe if you were still in Boston…” He trails off.

“Yeah, well, a lot of things would be different if I was still in Boston.” Tyler hits the mattress and promptly begins to apologize when Marshall raises his head to glare at him. “I don’t know if –“ _anyone likes me enough to even fake-marry me._ The rest of that sentence is so pathetic that he just stops right there.

Brownie yawns, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes. “Well, just think about it, Segs. You could go to Dallas and do training camp while the paperwork is being pushed through. It might be completed by the time the season starts.”

Tyler thanks him, but pushes the idea to the back of his head. It’s just too crazy to actually work.

 

 *

 

Tyler off-handedly mentions Brownie’s idea to Jamie the next time he calls, which in retrospect might’ve been a bad idea.

“Holy shit, Tyler, that might actually work!” Jamie’s voice goes from _shy_ and _quiet_ to _eardrum-bursting_ in under a second. Tyler pulls the phone away from his ear and grimaces.

“I didn’t tell you this so you could encourage his crackpot ideas.”

“No, no,” Jamie sounds breathless, like he’s genuinely excited about the prospect of helping Tyler defraud the United States and Canadian governments. “You hear about green card marriages all the time, why wouldn’t it work for you?”

“Um, maybe we hear about them because the people always either get caught or are subject to intense ridicule? And besides, I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m not exactly marriage material.”

“Tyler,” Jamie is speaking slowly, drawing each syllable out like he’s talking to a particularly slow child. “you won’t really be married. It will be a fake marriage.”

Tyler snorts, unable to help himself. “They send people to check that shit out, dude. We would have to live together and know everything about each other and be able to convince a total fucking stranger that we’re head over heels in love.”

Jamie _hmmm’s,_ “So you need to find someone who you can know everything about within a couple of month’s time _and_ who knows it’s all a ploy.”

Tyler squints at his phone’s screen, “That sounded mighty rhetorical, dude.”

Jamie just keeps making these _humming_ sounds, which are starting to freak Tyler out a little bit. “I think we can do this, Tyler.”

Tyler huffs out a laugh. “ _We_ can do what exactly?”

There’s a brief second of silence over the line, like Jamie needed a moment to figure out his wording. “You and me. We could pull it off.”

Tyler wonders if this is what it feels like to swallow your own tongue. The resulting coughing fit leaves him teary-eyed and wheezing and feeling like someone just took sandpaper to his vocal cords. “ _Excuse me_?”

Jamie starts tripping over his words, like his brain is producing them faster than his mouth can say them. “Well – I – I think that we could pull it off. Look, Tyler, I know it’d be kinda weird but I’m probably the most boring person in the world. It probably won’t even take you two months to learn everything about me.”

Something about the self-depreciative tone made Tyler’s stomach clench. “Jamie, I –“

“And I know that it sounds weird, but isn’t it better to have someone who knows how much this means to you – why you’re doing it – to trust to keep it a secret?”

Which, okay, is a pretty good point, but still. Being the first openly gay and marriedhockey players (even if it’s a lie in Jamie’s case) in _Texas?_ “They’d eat us alive.”

Jamie’s tone takes on a sharp edge. “I’d like to see ‘em try. We can do this, Tyler. We can be fake-married and play our brand of hockey and they won’t be able to say a goddamn thing about us when we’re lifting the Cup over our heads.”

So Tyler gathers up what’s left of his courage, drawing some from Jamie’s words, and says, “Okay.”

 

*

 

_Scheming_ is perhaps the best word for what comes next. After agreeing to marry Jamie, and Tyler starts to feel a little light-headed when it’s put like that, they try to get their stories straight.

“We’ll just tell everyone that we kept in contact after the All Stars game. You fell for my quick wit and charming good looks until you couldn’t hold yourself back any longer.”

Jamie’s snort is not kind. “Sure, stud. It’ a good idea…not the part about your animal magnetism, but the All Stars part.”

Tyler shrugs. “You’re missing out, bro.”

“I think I’ll survive.” Jamie hums, a habit Tyler has begun to realize is his ‘thinking noise’. He distantly wonders if he also puts a finger to his chin. “We’ll tell ‘em a version of the truth in that we met during All Stars and kept in touch. When we realized that the interest was mutual, we decided to date but kept it quiet because of the effect it could have on our organizations.”

“Oh my god, we’re gonna be the hockey dude version of Romeo and Juliet!” Tyler claps his hands together in delight. “Although hopefully with 100% less death.”

Jamie groans like he’s just realized how true that statement is. “I take it all back.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Tyler snaps jokingly. “I am not the kind of girl you can just walk out on after proposing!”

Jamie’s groans increase in volume.

“Speaking of which, where do you wanna get hitched? We have a few places to choose from.”

Jamie’s groan cuts off and there’s an awkward silence that Tyler isn’t sure how to dispel. Finally, Jamie sighs. “Well, that depends on when we want people to find out about us.”

“Like?”

Jamie, for someone who had only proposed thirty minutes ago, seems to have already given it some thought. “Well, if we have it in Victoria my parents will have our pictures splashed across Facebook so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

“Same thing with Brampton,” Tyler winces. “only it’ll be a million times worse. At least your problem is that your family is proud of you, not that journalists are hovering around like vultures waiting for their next meal.”

There’s a pause, like Jamie is mulling his words over. Whether his own or Tyler’s, Tyler isn’t sure. “Texas won’t allow same-sex marriage, but it _does_ have to recognize the unions, so at least there’s that.” Another pause, and then a hesitant, “What about Vegas?”

Tyler’s laugh sounds like a dying parrot. “Oh. My. God. Dude, that is the best fucking idea I’ve ever heard!”

On the other end of the line, Jamie’s practically cackling.

This, Tyler thinks, may be the start of something beautiful.


	3. Chapter 3

Tyler only has about four and a half hours to metaphorically gird his loins before the plane touches down at McCarran, most of which is spent downing mini-bottles of vodka and trying not to think about how disappointed his mother is going to be in him when she finds out why he practically ran out of the house this morning. Thankfully the stewardesses and other passengers are giving him and his chalky pale face a wide berth, so Tyler feels free to stare vacantly at the seat in front of him and contemplate what a terrible idea this is.

The arrival area of any airport is always crowded, but the usually overwhelming ebb and flow of bodies seem to part easily for Jamie Benn’s bulk. He’s dressed simply in dark jeans and a black Henley, his hair slicked back and parted in such a ridiculous way that Tyler can’t help but feel horribly fond of it. He has big doe eyes and a soft chin and everything about his slouching figure seems to contradict the whole “Bulldozer Benn” image that the Stars have been cultivating. _My future husband is really good looking,_ Tyler thinks somewhat hysterically and wonders if it’s too late to run back to the plane.

He hasn’t moved an inch in over a minute, but Jamie’s eyes seem to zero right in on him. He smiles a small, sweet smile and waves his hand, like they’re childhood friends finally seeing each other again for the first time in years and _dear lord, I’m so out of my depth._ Still, Tyler finds himself waving back before starting to fight his way through the sixty or so feet that separates them. Jamie’s eyes never leave Tyler, like he’s afraid he’ll get swept up into the waves of humanity and disappear, but he’s talking to someone who’s standing beside him. As Tyler gets closer he can make out a beard and plaid flannel and has just enough time to think _what’s a lumberjack doing in Vegas?_ before the crowd finally spits him out at Jamie’s feet.

“Hey,” Jamie’s voice is soft and lilting and Tyler has to strain to hear him over the overhead announcements of incoming flights. “Glad you could make it.”

He’s shifting his weight from foot to foot, like he has half a mind to bolt, and Tyler grins. “Well, I figured it would be tacky to be late to my own wedding so…”

Jamie barks out a laugh at that, looking as surprised as Tyler is a split second before he turns beet red. There’s an amused snort from the familiar looking guy beside him and Tyler eyes him speculatively. “Who’s the lumberjack?”

“Oh! This is my brother, Jordie. Jordie, this is Tyler Seguin.” Jamie gestures between them, like he’s doing the introductions at a dinner party and not in the middle of an airport on their way to a big gay elopement. The lumberjack – _Jordie_ – shakes Tyler’s hand and then swats the back of Jamie’s head.

“Ow!”

“I know who he is, genius. You think I would let you get married to a _complete_ stranger?”

Tyler can’t help flinching at the thought of what exactly Jordie must have read and heard about him. It had been so nice talking to Jamie – sweet Jamie, who was so willing to ignore the rumor mill that now circulated around Tyler’s every move – that it had been too easy to forget that many people didn’t feel the same way. Still, Jordie’s eyes hold no judgement when he finally turns back to Tyler and manhandles his duffle bag right off of his shoulder.

“Oh! That’s – that’s okay, I got this –“

But Jordie is quickly swallowed up into the churning mass of bodies, dragging Tyler’s bag behind him. Tyler looks to Jamie, who merely shrugs his broad shoulders and then, offering an _after you_ gesture, follows Tyler through the airport and out into the Las Vegas heat.

 

*

 

Whatever image Tyler had in mind for a super-secret wedding-of-convenience in Las Vegas, a honeymoon suite at the Bellagio wasn’t it.

It’s an early Tuesday afternoon, but the hotel lobby is already filled with people waiting to check in or heading down to the pools and casinos. Even over the dull roar, Tyler can hear the distinctive shutter-snap of a camera and tries to pull his cap down further, following Jordie’s lead to the row of elevators. The elevator they grab is thankfully empty, but not quite wide enough to fit three grown hockey players side-by-side. As Jamie moves to stand in front of him, Tyler has to repress the urge to rest his aching head against his new fiancée’s broad back. The elevator’s interior is cloaked in glass and, although he tries not to, Tyler manages to catch a glimpse of his waxy and distinctly uncomfortable visage reflected back at him.

Jamie and Jordie, on the other hand, seem to be utilizing the mirrors in order to stare each other’s reflections down. Jordie’s thick eyebrows are doing a complicated and unintentionally hilarious dance that Jamie seems to be replying to solely by glaring and rolling his eyes several times in a row. Tyler watches this exchange for a moment, a secret language so familiar to an older sibling like himself, until he can’t help it anymore and starts to laugh. Startled by the noise, Jamie glances over his shoulder and Tyler watches in fascination as the tips of his ears begin to glow a bright red. He tries to turn back around but the elevator interior reflects his bright cheeks and stupid dumbo ears to every surface surrounding them and Tyler, for some reason, finds himself unable to tear his gaze away.

It feels like forever, but the elevator doors finally _ding_ open and Jordie brushes past them, heading to the last door down a wide hall. The hotel room is bright and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows showing off an amazing view of the fountains and the Strip. There’s already a couple of suitcases and garment bags spread out across the king-sized bed (“I was already in town,” Jordie shrugs. “I just upgraded rooms when Jamie told me about this plan of yours.”) and Tyler throws his own bag down beside them. An uncomfortable silence descends on the room – Tyler standing stock-still by the bed, Jamie fidgeting near the door to the attached sitting room – before Jordie heaves a long-suffering sigh.

“So, what’s the plan?”

Jamie avoids Tyler’s gaze and shrugs helplessly at his brother. Whatever bravado or confidence he’d shown while talking to Tyler every night seems to have been sapped away by Jordie’s presence. _Maybe he’s scared he’ll disagree_ , Tyler thinks. _Or maybe, now that we’re here, he’s finally having second thoughts_. Tyler feels the old familiar panic begin to well up and tries to surreptitiously palm his phone out of his pants pocket. He needs to book the first flight back to Toronto and then drink himself to death and forget that this whole debacle ever happened –

“Amazing,” Jordie finally huffs, crossing his arms. “Tyler, you religious?”

Tyler’s hand freezes in place. “Um, not really?”

“Good, neither are we. Secular wedding it will be, then.” Jordie claps his hands together and pushes past his brother to get to the minibar. “What is your opinion on gazebos?”

 

*

 

It takes Jordie a little more than an hour on the phone and several repetitions of a credit card number (“You can totally afford it,” Jordie growls when Jamie tries taking it away from him) to plan an entire wedding. Tyler leaves the sitting room feeling dazed and flops face-first onto the bed. For all their long conversations about the possible legal or hockey-related ramifications of the marriage, it seemed that neither he nor Jamie had bothered to figure out exactly _how_ they were supposed to go about getting married. Tyler is caught somewhere between dozing off and listening to Jordie try to sweet-talk the venue planner (“Yes, I completely agree, Jessica, but they _insist_ on getting married today and my brother’s heart is _set_ on that garden. Yes, I know its August and they’ll probably get heat stroke in suits. We’ll sign a wavier if need be.”) when there’s a knock on the bedroom door. Tyler blinks blearily at the Jamie-shaped figure standing in the doorway and grins. “Door’s open, dude.”

Jamie steps into the room, running his hands through his hair and somehow making it look even worse than before. “I know, just wanted to see if you wouldn’t mind the company.”

Flopping onto his back, Tyler reaches over to pat the edge of the mattress. “Your brother is a force of nature, man. It almost makes me feel bad for that flower shop owner.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve seen a grown man get that upset over not having the right number of roses before,” Jamie tries to perch daintily on the side of the bed but Tyler can still feel the mattress dip down as his body slides a couple of inches in Jamie’s direction. “But he just wants what’s best.” The _for me_ goes unsaid.

Tyler hears it anyway. “And what about you? Do you think this’ll actually work?”

Jamie expression crumbles. “You know, if you’re having second thoughts about this, it’s not too late.”

“Me?” Tyler scoffs. “ _You’re_ the one who’s literally taking one for the team, dude.”

“Well, I just thought…” Jamie trails off, turning away. Jordie’s voice carries over from the other room. It sounds like he’s planning the reception now.

“You thought what?” Tyler rolls onto his side, moving a couple of inches closer in order to see the side of Jamie’s face.

“You got off the plane looking pretty freaked out, man. I just thought…maybe you’d changed your mind on the plane but was too scared to tell us.”

Tyler reaches out, digging his index finger into the side of Jamie’s thigh until he grabs it and shifts away. “No way, Jamie. I mean, yeah, I’m still kinda freaked out and I’m _still_ not convinced we’re actually gonna get away with this but I’m not saying _no,_ okay?”

Jamie smiles ever so softly and squeezes Tyler’s captive finger. “Okay.”

 

*

 

The sun has gone down, but there are enough fairy lights wrapped around the garden fauna to light up a small hockey rink. Red rose petals are strewn all across the gazebo floor and down the aisles between the empty seats. Tyler thinks Jamie would chirp Jordie about all of this if Jordie didn’t keep clasping their shoulders and blinking way too much, too often. It’s a gorgeous venue and Tyler allows himself a moment of guilt that his parents and sisters aren’t here to see this; has to keep reminding himself that nothing about this is really _real._ That someday, probably soon, this charade will be over and then he’d have a _real_ wedding where Cass could play the part of the flower girl and they’d have to witness his mom’s horrific dancing.

(But when he’d first walked out of the bathroom, dressed simply in slacks and a white dress shirt, Jamie had said _wow_ like he’d never really seen Tyler before and Tyler, for a split second, had wanted to reach up to run his hands through Jamie’s (finally) clean hair before he could stop himself and then Jordie had walked in saying _I trimmed my beard for you guys, I hope you appreciate that,_ making them jump apart guiltily and shattering the moment…)

And now Jamie is standing hand-in-hand across from him, with his goofy smile and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his sweaty palms, while Jordie stands to one side, trying to pretend like he isn’t dabbing at his eyes. Tyler’s laptop is balanced precariously on a pillar beside them, where he’d given Brownie just enough warning before the ceremony began to throw a tie on over his old stained t-shirt and play a rendition of ‘Here Comes The Bride’ on an out of tune guitar. He keeps giving enthusiastic thumbs up and throwing out comments that make Jordie laugh and they keep fumbling over their vows and Tyler knows that the officiant must be getting tired of them but it’s just so innocently _fun_ in a way that Tyler hasn’t experienced in such a long time.

So when Jamie whispers _I do_ and then immediately looks gobsmacked, Tyler can’t help but laugh through his own _I do._

And when Jamie finally kisses him, so softly and chastely, Tyler doesn’t really feel like _all_ of this is a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, all of the amazing comments, bookmarks, and kudos have meant the world to me!
> 
> Jordie would make an *amazing* wedding planner. I will fight you over this.


	4. Chapter 4

It takes a little less than 48 hours for the first photo to hit the internet; Jamie and Jordie’s massive forms parting the sea of hotel visitors, Tyler’s slighter form trailing along in their wake. Deadspin’s top headline reads _New Captain Already Called To Rein Seguin In_ and Tyler’s so fucking angry that his hands are shaking. He walks down to breakfast and straight into the great parental wall of disappointment, Candice and Cassidy shifting in their chairs like they can feel the change in the air.

“It’s not what you think,” Tyler finally chokes out.

His dad is staring down at his tablet, at the picture from Vegas and a little slideshow along the side that promises to have all of the juicy gossip concerning every shitty thing Tyler did while drunk and lonely in Boston, and shakes his head. “Enough.”

“But dad –“

“I said _enough_!” His dad’s face is starting to purple around the edges, like he can’t quite catch a breath.

The girls flinch and, with apologetic glances, stand and leave their untouched breakfasts behind. Tyler hears the front door slam and breathes a small sigh of relief. Knowing their brother is a fuck-up and listening to their own parents call their brother a fuck-up is a big difference. He doesn’t want them here for this.

His mom is preoccupied with flipping a batch of blueberry pancakes.

“Mom?” Tyler can’t keep his voice from breaking.

She sighs, turning away from the griddle to face him. “Why did you tell me you were going to see a friend, Tyler?”

“I did,” Tyler implores, feeling nausea rise at their shared expressions of disbelief. “ _I did_! Jamie and his brother were in Vegas and he asked if I wanted to hang out.”

“And did you really think that was,” and here his mom pauses, obviously trying to search for a word that denotes how careless he had been without hurting his feelings.

“It’s fucking stupid, is what it is.” His dad spits, no such compunction.

“Paul!” His mom cries.

“What then?” his dad throws his hands up in the air. “It is what it is and it was fucking stupid. Do you have any idea what we’ve had to do to keep those vultures off of us? Off of _you_?”

Tyler shakes his head. As much as this mess was of his own making, he knows that he’s being sheltered from any fallout he does not seek out himself.

“Every single dayI have to check the caller id when someone calls me and wonder who will be knocking on my door next. The girls are being followed, Tyler, by people asking them what you were thinking and you really thought this was the best time to go to fucking _Vegas_?”

“I…” Tyler swallows the words that so desperately want to come out. _It’s not fair. It’s not my fault._ But he’s not sixteen anymore. “I mean, it may not have been the smartest thing to do, but I just missed Jamie when I went to Dallas and I didn’t want to insult him.”

His mom sighs. “I know we taught you manners, Tyler, but maybe you should’ve said no. Or maybe invited him here, instead.”

Tyler tries to imagine Jamie Benn’s presence filling up his old bedroom, or in the rickety chair in the living room that would surely give under his weight. Jamie playing with Marshall in the back yard, throwing the chubby ball of neurosis over his shoulders and carrying him back inside when one of the squirrels eventually got too close and Marshall tried to scale the fence after it.

It’s not a bad image and Tyler feels himself starting to smile, gently.

“So what did you do there?” His dad’s voice cuts through the haze and Tyler pulls himself up straighter.

_Oh, you know, the usual. Drinking, gambling, convenient shot-gun style weddings…_

“We stayed inside most of the time, got to know each other a little bit better.”

(It wasn’t technically a lie, so much as an oversimplification. Jordie had their reception in an elaborately decorated room of the chapel, complete with a three-tier wedding cake and an empty dance floor. Jordie had been trading horror stories with Brownie about AHL games they’d been a part of (and had apparently barely escaped from alive) and Tyler had sat close to Jamie, shoulders brushing and elbows bumping as they drank their champagne in silence. It had been peaceful right up until Tyler’s alarm had gone off, reminding him of his flight back home. The silence had turned strained as Jamie pulled away and Tyler had had to bite his tongue before it offered to stay.)

His mom, oblivious to his thoughts, flips three of the pancakes onto a plate and slides it across the counter towards him. “Well, that’s nice, honey.”

 

*

 

Jordie wins the argument over where Tyler is going to live by moving all of his shit into an apartment three floors down and writing _time to spread your wings, baby bird_ on Jamie’s bathroom mirror. In lipstick.

Jamie sends him a picture of it.

“Well,” Tyler says, obsessively folding and refolding his clothes to give his hands something to do. “At least he has good taste in colors. That red would look amazing with his undertones.”

There’s a long pause before Jamie groans. “I think I’m scarred for life.”

Tyler keeps laughing even after Jamie hangs up on him.

He gets packed up, his passport in his jacket’s inner pocket and his duffle slung over his shoulders. His mom and dad are old hats at saying goodbye by now, mom smudging the lipstick from her kiss off of his cheek and dad clapping him on the back. He picks up Cassidy and twirls her around just to make her laugh, but Candice attaches herself to his neck and buries her face.

“Hey, now,” he murmurs, running his free hand up and down her back. “You’re not going to miss me that much.”

She shakes her head and Tyler wonders how much mascara she’s smearing on his collar. “I just…really wanted to stay with you for a while.”

Before the conversation in the kitchen he didn’t know just how hard this situation had been on the girls. He feels guilty, because whatever small hope he had given her of visiting Dallas had been pulled off the table as soon as he’d said _I do_. “Hey, it’s just until I can find a more permanent place or something, okay?”

She nods, finally stepping back. “Okay.”

“Promise you’ll take care of Marshall for me until then?” It killed him to leave the Lab behind, but he hadn’t had a chance to talk to Jamie about whether or not he even liked dogs. _Although_ , Tyler mused, _that is certainly a relationship deal-breaker._

Or at least it would be, if this were a real relationship.

Candy nodded again, swiping at her eyes and tangling her fingers in Marshall’s ruff. “He likes me better anyway.”

“Brat,” Tyler grinned, shutting the door behind him.

 

*

 

If Tyler thought that Dallas in July was iffy, then Dallas in September is just _awful._ The brief moments spent in-between air conditioning has already managed to make him sweat worse than a bag skate. The lobby of Jamie’s apartment is so cold it feels like being hit in the face by an avalanche and Tyler breathes the cool air in deep.

There’s no one waiting for him but Jamie had texted him their apartment number before he’d landed, pleading a Stars emergency and telling him to make himself at home. Tyler walks up, half expecting a welcome mat or a fake rock with a key hidden inside and feels slightly disappointed to find neither. The door, however, is propped ajar and Tyler has a split second to question Jamie’s sanity before he catches sight of Jordie puttering around the kitchen.

“Hey there, baby bro-in-law!” Jordie is wearing a different color of flannel shirt today, despite the fact that it feels like Satan himself has taken a shit on Texas. Tyler feels something in his stomach relax. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Jamie, but seeing him right now would make this whole situation all too real. Jordie seemed to be the only truly fixed point in this whirlwind.

“Hey, yourself. What, did you leave your ax and toque behind?”

“You think you’re so funny,” Jordie tutted, whirling around the kitchen. Tyler can see something grilling on a George Forman on the countertop and about ten different bowls filled with food set out.

“I thought you moved out.”

“I came over to steal some food, of course. It’s right there in our non-written, non-verbal brotherly contract.” He points towards one of the bowl and snaps his fingers. “Be a dear and mix that for me, would ya?”

Tyler drops his duffle bag and suitcases beside the door, kicking the old shoe propping the door open out of the way and walking into the kitchen to wash his hands. He can feel the circulated airplane air still clinging to him like a film on his skin, but a shower will have to wait.

“Of course,” Jordie continues, bumping into Tyler’s hip when he reaches to flip the chicken breasts on the grill. “If it was up to Jamie, he’d be eating out almost every meal. So this way I get free groceries and he has meals all ready for him.”

Tyler notices the precariously balanced pyramid of tubberware covering the kitchen island. There had to be enough food for at least a week or two, even with two hockey players in the house. “My mom used to do meal prep a lot when I was a kid,” he offers. Jordie makes an inquisitive noise. “She said it was necessary for survival with all the travelling we had to do for my tournaments.”

“Two hockey players and a daughter who could eat like a hockey player.” Jordie sighed wistfully. “My poor mother hasn’t stopped cooking in almost 30 years.”

There’s the subtle sound of a key catching in the deadbolt. After a second Jamie shoulders fill up the kitchen entry way, little crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes when he sees Tyler. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” Tyler chimes back. “How did the emergency go?”

Jamie rolls his eyes good-naturedly, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “It was fine. Just some management stuff.” He shrugs out of his suit jacket and tosses it over the back of a bar stool. “What’s going on in here?”

“Oh, the usual.” Jordie says, twirling the knife he’d been using to cut up the baby carrots. “Bonding, trying to steal my food, braiding each other’s hair, _gossiping_.”

Jamie snorts and manages to snag a carrot despite Jordie’s attempt to stab his fingers. He takes a bite and then turns back around. “Welcome home, Tyler.”

 

*

  _  
_

The next couple of weeks pass quite peacefully. For all the jokes about married cohabitation Tyler and Jamie don’t spend a lot of time alone, seeing as how Jordie’s definition of moving out only seems to include sleeping at another place. He is, for all intents and purposes, still living out of Jamie’s living room and Tyler finds it familiar. It reminds him a little of the early years in Boston, when all the rookies had been living in the same apartment building and everyone had a copy of all the keys and Tyler was never really alone for any length of time.

_And it must take some of the pressure off of Jamie_ , he thinks, _to pretend that he’s just helping a buddy out._

The peace doesn’t last for long.

They come home from a particularly grueling workout session to find a large manila envelope stuffed into their apartment’s mailbox. It’s bent slightly at the edges where it’d been folded up to fit and scuffed up from the box’s metal lining. It’s addressed to a _Mr. & Mr. Jamie Benn _and Tyler instinctively turns to Jamie, watching his big brown eyes flicker back and forth across the writing like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

The three of them stand there like idiots until a not-so-subtle cough breaks the silence. Jordie smiles tightly at the little old lady whose mailbox they’re currently blocking and murmurs an apology. Jamie jumps, clutching the envelope address-first to his chest before moving towards the elevator bank. He holds the doors open for Tyler and Jordie and barely manages to keep silent until the doors have fully closed.

“What do you think it is?” He pulls the envelope away from his body, tracing the shape of it with his hands.

Tyler leans over his arm, pointing at the return address. “Our marriage certificate?”

“No, I had them send that to Coach. He wanted to,” he affected a growly tone, “ _Have legal proof that you went through with it, god help us both_.” He cleared his throat. “End quote.”

“The address is from Virginia, guys. It’s probably from Immigration.” Jordie unconsciously crowded Tyler against Jamie, trying to get a closer look at the envelope. Tyler felt Jamie tense, the long fingers that had been tracing the edges of the envelope freezing in place. Tyler tried to back away but Jordie kept him shoved close, Jamie’s thick arm pressing a line of heat across his chest.

The elevator doors chimed softly as they opened and Tyler snagged the envelope out of Jamie’s slack grasp. “We should probably see what it says.”

It takes Jamie forever to unlock the apartment door, but once they’re inside Tyler wastes no time in spreading the two-inch thick stack of papers across the bar’s counter top.

 

*

 

“What it’s saying,” Jordie says sometime later, squinting at the ridiculously small writing and obtuse legalese, “Is that y’all are screwed.”

Tyler looks up from where he’s reading his own small stack on the couch, something about _Attorney and Representative Procedures_ and _How to Report Instances of Identity Fraud_ or whatever, he stopped seeing straight twenty minutes ago. “What do you mean ‘screwed’?”

“I mean, if I understand this correctly – and I probably don’t, you should really give these to Alana – is that the United States government doesn’t believe you’re really married. In the _biblical_ sense.”

Jamie’s head pops out of the kitchen, where he’d escaped to heat them up some food when he’d won at rock, paper, scissors. Tyler maybe resents him just a little bit. “So what are they planning on doing about it?”

Jordie groans, scratching at his beard. “They’re legally allowed to do ‘spontaneous site visits’ in order to make sure you’re really living together and to separate the two of you when they interview you about each other.”

“Well, that’s easy.” Jamie placed some pre-portioned plates of the chicken breast and a large salad bowl down on the coffee table and shoved Tyler’s feet off the end of the couch. “Tyler already lives here and we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well.”

Jordie sighs, the long-suffering sigh of an older brother. “What’s his favorite color, Chubbs?”

Jamie freezes, staring into Tyler’s eyes like he can telepathically force the right answer from him. “Umm…blue?”

Tyler’s smile goes tight. “Silver, actually.”

“This is gonna be a fucking disaster.” Jordie whispered into his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my college semester *finally* ended and I sat down and churned this chapter out in a couple of hours. I honestly forgot how much I missed writing for pleasure! Thank you all for sticking with this story, especially since it's been forever since I updated and, as always, all of your amazing comments, bookmarks, and kudos have meant the world to me!


	5. Chapter 5

“Well, I can honestly say I never thought I’d encounter this particular situation in this line of work.”

The PR and legal department of the Dallas Stars occupies a sun-drenched corner of a high-rise downtown. Tyler watches the tiny forms of people as they scurry by, moving on about their lives, oblivious to the turmoil occurring above them. _What’s the word?_ he thinks, remembering his a-word-a-day app. _Sonder? The realization that each person is living their own life?_

The sound of a clearing throat breaks him out of his contemplation of the concrete below. Alana Newhook is beautiful and surprising young to be the head of the Stars’ Legal Counsel, but Tyler finds himself grateful. Trying to explain that two male hockey players have gone off and eloped during the off-season would probably be an even harder sale to a stereotypical stuffy old lawyer, but he finds the shrewd gleam in Alana’s eyes somewhat unsettling. He smiles, sheepish, and takes a seat back at Jamie’s side.

Jamie’s fingers are worrying at the fabric of the armrest and Tyler doesn’t even try to stop himself from reaching out to clasp his fingers between his own. Alana observes the touch through the glass top of the conference table but says nothing. “We weren’t exactly sure how to tell people.”

Alana nods. “I can see how this could be a delicate situation.”

“We know we should’ve told you guys about us before but,” Jamie pauses. Tyler feels him gently squeeze his hand, like he’s trying to draw strength. “We love each other and we knew the time was right.”

Alana nods again, making a commiserating hum. “You Can Play and other organizations of its ilk have certainly paved the way, but the NHL has never had an out player before let alone a married couple playing together.”

“If you’re suggesting that our relationship is going to get in the way of the team, I can promise you that won’t be an issue,” Jamie says. Tyler startles, surprised at the sharpness of his tone, like he’s actually _protective_ of their little fake-marriage.

Alana just smiles, a sharpness settling around the corners of her mouth. Tyler finds himself squeezing Jamie’s fingers hard enough to cut off circulation in warning but Jamie doesn’t shake him off. “So what would you have me do, Mr. Benn? Is this a meeting for a PR announcement of your union, or do you want us to help conceal it or –?”

“Neither,” Tyler mumbles, “This is just, what do you call it? Full disclosure, in case something happens?”

Alana stares at them for a moment longer, the weight of her heavy gaze making Tyler’s skin crawl. He’s beginning to understand just what made this woman claw her way up the top of a business primarily dominated by men. He looks away first.

“Okay, then,” Alana says, shuffling a couple of folders and pulling out a legal notepad. “I need all the dates and details of your relationship, up to and including the wedding. When or if you finally decide to make an announcement, we’ll blow everybody out of the goddamn water.”

 

*

 

They lose against the Panthers.

It’s a hard fought game with Kari trying desperately to keep them in it, but in the end they just can’t produce. The guys (or more specifically, the rookies) make some noise about finding a bar to drown their sorrows in but Tyler demurs. They all laugh when he tells them that he misses his dog already, a case of separation anxiety, but the truth is he knows he needs to stay away from the same downward spiral he was in while in Boston.

_I need to learn how to be sad,_ he thinks, _without needing alcohol to help me sort it all out._ He thinks his sisters – and maybe even Jamie – would approve of this newfound maturity.

Marshall is excited to see him, of course, and acts like he’s been gone for a year instead of just a few hours. Tyler scrunches his face against the slobbery kisses and kneads the Lab’s big floppy ears. When Marshall is finally satisfied that Tyler is appropriately sorry for leaving him alone, he climbs onto the big leather chaise he’s come to regard as his own and falls back asleep. Tyler snags some of Jordie’s pre-portioned leftovers, nukes them, and flops onto the couch to watch whatever game rerun is currently on.

He remembers closing his eyes, just for a moment, and then grimacing when Marshall takes the opportunity to worm his way into the juncture of Tyler’s legs, paws stepping on some rather…delicate places.

And then, nothing.

At least until Jamie comes stumbling in a few hours later. The side-table lamps are still on, so he must’ve tripped over a shoe or one of Marshall’s bones by the sound of his quiet cursing. Tyler knows he should get up and ask how the team outing went, maybe finally make his way to his own bed, but he’s just so _tired._

Marshall is comfortably sprawled out, snoring and holding his legs down and waking him up right now would surely be a shitty thing to do. His choice to sleep on the couch suitably validated, Tyler feels himself start to drift back off when he feels a sudden rush of cool air and then the softness of the throw blanket settling over him. Jamie tucks it under his shoulders and clicks the lamps off. Marshall lets out a quiet _woof_ and Tyler can hear the little doggy sounds of pleasure that indicate an ear scratching.

“Hey, there,” Jamie whispers, his tone so soft Tyler has to strain to hear it. “Are you keeping your papa warm, buddy? He must be so lucky to have you.”

Marshall stretches, like he’s preening under the attention.

Jamie sighs out a laugh. “Yeah, and you know it. You keep him safe now. He means a lot to us.” There’s a hollow _thud_ as Jamie pats the Lab’s barrel chest goodnight and then starts picking his way to his bedroom without turning on any of the other lights.

Tyler almost wishes he would, though. He doesn’t feel very much like sleeping anymore.

 

*

 

It’s nearly dawn by the time Tyler is finally tired enough to fall back to sleep, still twisting and turning on the couch. Watching infomercials for knife sets had helped to block out some of the remembered warmth of Jamie’s voice, but it keeps creeping into his thoughts in the most random of moments. It’s just that Jamie had sounded so fucking _affectionate_ and, well, Tyler’s never been very good with accepting affection that didn’t come from his mother or sisters.

He knows how easy it is to lose it again.

So breakfast finds Tyler sitting at the kitchen counter, trying not to nod off into his plate of sausage, egg whites, and homemade salsa ala Jordie and absently listening to Jamie tell a hilarious story from last night (Val had been hitting on a girl who was so far out of his league she was practically in outer space, but apparently she’d gone home with him so Tyler’s not exactly sure _why_ it’s so funny). He only realizes that he’s been staring at the chewed up collar of Jamie’s t-shirt when Jamie calls first shower and walks away. Tyler blinks, turning to see Jordie watching him with a furrowed brow.

“Rough night?” Jordie asks, sliding another sausage onto Tyler’s plate.

Tyler stabs the link with his fork and shoves the whole thing into his mouth, shrugging.

“Okay, then,” Jordie says, carrying his plate over to the sink. “How about you go lay back down? I’ll take Marshall for a run.”

Tyler tries to speak around his mouthful. “You don’t have to do that.”

But Jordie’s already snapping a leash onto Marshall’s collar, the Lab practically vibrating with excitement. “You look pretty awful, Segs. Give yourself some time to rest,” he says, pulling the apartment door shut behind them.

Tyler decides to take his advice, rinsing his plate off and starting the dishwasher. His bed is so much more comfortable than the couch and he flops down onto it face-first, nodding off without another thought. It feels like only a few minutes have passed when he wakes to the sound of a soft knock, mumbling a _come in_ without even opening his eyes. There’s a moment of silence like the person knocking didn’t hear his reply before the door finally creaks open. Tyler opens the one eye not pressed into his comforter to see Jamie, hair still wet from his shower and shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

Tyler crooks his index finger and Jamie steps closer, letting the door swing shut behind him. “What’s up?”

Jamie doesn’t look at him, glancing instead at all of the knick knacks and pictures that clutter Tyler’s bedroom. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Tyler slurs, fighting to keep his eyes open. “Of course.”

“It’s just…” Jamie trails off, finally stepping closer and taking a seat on the edge of the bed when Tyler pats the mattress. It’s eerily reminiscent of their conversation in Las Vegas, when they’d talked about the possibility of having second thoughts.

_The same day we got married,_ Tyler thinks and can’t help but smile.

Jamie smiles back, a little quirk of his lips that brightens up his eyes. “I heard the tv on most of the night. I just wanted to know if something was bothering you.”

Tyler groans. “I didn’t mean to keep you up. Just got to thinking about the season starting and –” He shrugs as best he can while lying prostrate, a twitch of his shoulders that’s apparently enough for Jamie to interpret.

“I know what you mean. That shit can keep you awake if you let it.”

“Why don’t you lay down with me?” Tyler says, watching in sleep-deprived amusement as the blush rushes to Jamie’s cheeks and even the tips of his ears. It’s nowhere near what he’d meant to say next, but now that he’s said it he doesn’t want to take it back. “My Shamwow addiction must’ve kept you awake last night, let me make it up to you.”

Jamie looks about two seconds away from bolting out of the room. “Um…no…no that’s fine, I –” His sideways sidle off of the bed freezes when Tyler grabs the neckline of his t-shirt and tugs down. “I’ll just let you get some rest and –”

Tyler just tugs again, harder, and Jamie – for all his protests – offers no real resistance as he maneuvers onto his back. The bed is queen-sized but Jamie is plastered close to his side, close enough that Tyler can feel the heat of his body and every shuddering breath he takes in. He tries to smooth out Jamie’s shirt but keeps his hand resting against the ripped up collar, thumb pressed to warm skin.

Tyler desperately wants to stay awake, to enjoy this little pocket of contentment and quiet that they’re creating but his body doesn’t want to cooperate. Jamie’s head is turned towards him, his big brown eyes fluttering over every inch of Tyler’s face like he’s trying to make sense of it all. Tyler wants to tell him _it’s okay_ and _I’m lonely_ _and tired_ and _you mean a lot to me, too,_ but he falls asleep somewhere between one breath and the next.

Jamie isn’t there when he wakes up.

 

*

 

They keep losing games. It’s a hard time for everyone on the team, but Tyler swears he can feel the heat just a little bit more. He was brought to Dallas to help _win_ and the fact that, a month into the season, he still feels like he’s playing catch-up is frustrating. For all their off-ice bonding he feels slewfooted around Jamie, accelerating when his line is supposed to fall back or trying to make a play around the net when Jamie’s already put the puck in. There’s a disconnect and Tyler isn’t exactly sure how to fix it.

Candace listens to him whine about it during their nightly phone call for approximately thirty minutes before sighing. “What’s this really about, Ty?”

Tyler squints at his phone. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Candace says, “that this isn’t really about hockey. Either you or Jamie did something stupid to make you all spazzy and now you’re trying to blame it all on your game. Like, transference or whatever.”

_Transference?_ Tyler mouths to himself. “When did you get to be so smart?”

Another sigh, this one infinitely more world-weary. “Stop avoiding the subject. I know you, Tyler, and until you tell me what’s got you so freaked out I can’t help you fix whatever’s wrong.”

It’s on the tip of Tyler’s tongue to say _I don’t really want to talk about it_ but this is _Candy,_ his little sister who’s been his best friend since before he could remember. He stands up, opening his bedroom door a crack. He can hear Jamie and Jordie laughing in the kitchen, the hum of ESPN in the background, smell the steaks Jordie bought for supper that Jamie will no doubt overcook. Marshall snuffles and noses the door open more, trying to fit his bulk through to go beg for table scraps. Tyler shuts the door behind him and leans his forehead against the smooth grain. “I got married.” He blurts the words out before he can think twice about it.

There’s a long pause, like Candace isn’t even sure if that was directed towards her. “You did _what_?”

“I got married _,_ Candy,” Tyler says, “to Jamie.” It’s the first time he’s said the words out loud.

“Why would you do that?” Her voice is so soft; he has to strain to hear it.

“Because it was the only way I could keep playing.” He’s not above begging for her understanding, for her permission. “They weren’t going to let me play and I…don’t have anything else.”

“Oh, _Tyler._ Is that why you didn’t want me to come to Dallas with you?”

He can feel the tears starting to well up and rubs his sleeve across his eyes, angry. He has to go back out there with the guys after this conversation and damned if he’s going to let them know he’d been in his room bawling about his life to his little sister. “Yeah, we had to get everything sorted out. No one else knows right now except Jordie, Brownie, and some of the Stars’ staff. Oh, and the great state of Nevada.”

Candace snorts, exasperated. “Why am I not surprised you chose Vegas?”

Laughter feels good, like it’s unraveling a tiny ball of guilt deep inside of his chest. Tyler clears his throat. “Since you know now – and you don’t have to if you don’t want to – you could come stay with me for a little while. With us. If you still wanted to, that is.” He thuds his forehead against the door, hears the conversation in the kitchen pause and then pick up again.

“Yeah,” Candace finally says, tears in her voice. “I’d really like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally graduated with my degree in Psychology which, let me tell you, is a pretty unreal feeling. This chapter is dedicated to the kind Tumblr anon who asked me when I was going to update it. I think I've just been paralyzed with not having the entire story-line planned out beforehand and felt like I would be getting 'ahead of myself' by being such a gardener. But what can I say? I missed my boys.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with this story and, as always, all of your amazing comments, bookmarks, and kudos have meant the world to me!


	6. Chapter 6

“So,” Tyler says one night while chopping up some carrots, “my sister is going to come stay with us for a bit, if that’s okay with you?” He scrapes the julienne’d pieces into the pan like he’d merely commented on the Dallas weather.

Jamie, on the other hand, nearly slices one of his own fingers off.

“Fuck! Are you okay?” Tyler grabs a paper towel and shoves it into Jamie’s hand. There’s a long line of red welling up along the side of his index finger, but it doesn’t look too deep.

“Thanks,” Jamie says, wrapping the towel around his finger and grabbing a new knife. He uses his left hand to continue cutting the rest of the potatoes (they’re all wonky and different sizes; Jordie is gonna pitch a fit) and stares at his butcher-block like it holds all the secrets to the universe. “Which sister are we talking about?”

Tyler watches his hands, wondering if there’s any Neosporin in the bathroom. “Candace. She’s starting college up in Vermont, so she should have a break for American Thanksgiving.”

“Ah,” Jamie nods. He chases down the bigger pieces of potato he’d botched and chops them into smaller bits. “You want her to stay here? With us, I mean?”

Tyler stares Jamie down. “Why are you being so dodgy about this?”

“I’m not being _dodgy_ ,” Jamie says, the tips of his ears turning red. “I’m just wondering how we’re going to explain the whole _gay married_ thing to her, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Tyler says. “I already told her.”

“You…did?” Jamie pauses, like he’s trying to figure out the right way to ask. “How did she take it?”

“She dragged my ass for being such a Harlequin cliché.” At Jamie’s confused look, he elaborated. “You know, getting shot-gun married in Vegas to a man I barely know in order to defend my honor, or whatever.”

Jamie’s smile is so damn bright; Tyler tries not to stare too openly. “I think I’m going to like your sister.”

“God help me,” Tyler mutters and Jamie’s laughter fills their kitchen.

 

*

 

They’re flying high off of a 6-3 home win against Anaheim when Candace’s taxi pulls up to the condo and Tyler, Jamie, and Jordie are enlisted to help carry her luggage.

“ _Candy_ ,” Tyler whines. Jamie and Jordie exchange amused looks but he can’t help it if being around his sisters makes him mentally regress. “You’re only going to be here for two days. Why in the name of all things good and holy do you need six suitcases?”

Candace hits the elevator call button and taps her foot. “Because some of that stuff is shit mom made me pack for you. Apparently she thought it would be easier to use me as a mule than to wait for you to come get them.”

“Huh,” Tyler says. He hefts the two Prada bags he’s carrying up onto his shoulders. “Did she pack my –”

“Ripped shits and your stupid snapback collection, yes.” The elevator doors finally open with a _ding_ and they all turn to stare at the small space.

“Tight fit,” Jamie mutters. It’s the first thing he’s said all day.

“Think of it like real life Tetris,” Candace says and pushes Tyler in.

“I like the way you think!” Jordie says and Tyler does his level best to bury himself alive with the luggage.

 

*

 

By supper time Jamie still hasn’t said more than two words to anybody. Candace has already bemoaned their lack of interior decorating sense, given Tyler a pointed look when he’d shown her his _married-but-sleeping-solo_ bedroom and is now firmly ensconced on the couch having a fight with Jordie over who has the most cat memes on their phone.

Tyler escapes into the kitchen where Jamie is “cooking” (read: _burning_ ) some burgers and dogs, catching him by the sleeve. “What’s up, man? You haven’t said a word all day.”

Jamie shrugs and glances out through the bar into the living room. His voice is soft. “I don’t really know what to say to her.”

“You have a sister,” Tyler snorts. “Just talk to her like that.”

Jamie frowns, poking the hamburgers with his tongs. Tyler tugs on his shirt again and he sighs. “She means a lot you, Segs. Her _opinion_ means a lot to you. So forgive me for being a little bit careful over what I say to her, okay?”

“What?” Tyler says jokingly. “Scared I’ll divorce you if she doesn’t like you?” Jamie freezes and Tyler watches as the flush of pink tints his cheeks before he turns away. _Well, fuck._ “I wouldn’t do that to you, Jamie. Especially not after everything you’ve done for me.”

Jamie shrugs, placing the burnt-beyond-recognition hotdogs onto a plate and sticking it in the microwave to keep. “I wouldn’t blame you, you know? She’s your _sister._ I’m just your teammate.”

“You’re my _husband_ ,” Tyler says, voice breaking, and immediately wishes he had never opened his mouth. Jamie’s staring at him now and his eyes are too large, too dark. This was supposed to be an easy plan. He wasn’t supposed to _care_ so much. “You and Jordie are _family_ now.”

Jamie is still staring at him. There’s the sound of someone whispering in the living room and then silence. It rings in his ears. He raises his voice. “Food’s ready, guys.”

Jordie and Candace troop into the kitchen obligingly, eyes flickering between Tyler and Jamie’s still frozen forms. The fire alarm starts to frantically wail and Jordie hits Jamie’s shoulder, “Your kitchen timer is going off, Chubs.”, startling him into movement. Tyler lets out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Later that night, after eating and arguing over who has to clean the kitchen (Tyler loses) and what to watch on tv, Jamie shifts in his chair, looks at Candace, and smiles. “So, how do you like your campus?”

 

*

It only takes a couple of days for Jordie and Candace to turn into a truly diabolical duo and, as he waves goodbye to her at the airport, Tyler bemoans what he has unwittingly unleased upon the world. There’s little time to mourn the world’s collective lost innocence, however. The Stars fall in their next two games in shootouts, lose two more by a rather humiliating margin, and an officer from the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services shows up at their door at five o’clock on a Saturday morning.

December in Dallas is nothing compared to winter in Brampton but Tyler buys himself some down blankets and a quilt because it’s the principle of the matter, dammit. Jamie makes fun of him at first but about a week later he has a matching set on his own bed, much to Tyler’s amusement. It’s these blankets he drags out with him to see who the fuck is knocking at their door at five o’clock in the morning on their only day off this week _._

“Mr. Benn?” The woman is short and stocky, with curly hair pulled back from her face and a disgustingly chipper attitude. She looks like she’s had six cups of coffee already. “Or are you Mr.…Benn?”

Tyler stares at her. “What?”

She sighs good-naturedly, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a badge. The entryway light glints off of the gold-gilt. _U.S. Department of Homeland Security,_ it reads. Tyler can hear a wheezing sound and wonders if it’s coming from him. “Honorifics can get a little wonky when it’s same sex. Are you Tyler or Jamie?”

“Tyler,” he whispers.

“Good, good!” She shoves the badge back into her jacket pocket and checks something on her tablet. “Is your husband here at the moment?”

“Yeah,” Tyler says and clears his throat. “He’s still in bed, though.”

“That’s fine, dear. Would you mind going to get him for me?” Tyler swaddles his blankets closer and obediently starts to shuffle away. “May I come in? I’d hate to do all of this standing out in the hallway.”

“Sure, of course,” Tyler mumbles, chagrinned.

The officer follows him into the living room. He turns to stare at Jamie’s bedroom door and the officer turns to stare at him. “So, I’d better go get him.” He stumbles towards the closed door, muttering a little prayer under his breath the whole way. He hesitates, but the door handle turns and the door swings open and Tyler feels like he wants to cry. God bless Jamie for not doing something stupid like sleeping with his bedroom door locked _._

“Hey…babe?” Tyler turns to see the officer smiling encouragingly at him and typing something on her tablet. Tyler slips into the room and latches the door behind him. The curtains are open, the lights of the surrounding high-rises casting a glow. Jamie is sprawled across his bed, the blankets dipping low on his stomach. He has one of those ridiculous sleep masks on and every time he breaths in there’s a delicate snore.

Tyler would, in any other circumstances, love to stand beside this bed and catalogue all the ways Jamie has gone tender with sleep, but now is not the time. “Jamie,” he hisses. “Jamie, fucking wake up.”

Nothing.

Tyler tries to grab at one of his feet but Jamie just snorts, kicking his hand away before settling back in. Tyler sighs, drops his blankets, and climbs up the side of the bed and to Jamie’s side. He slips the sleep mask over his forehead, covers Jamie’s mouth with his hand, pinches a hunk of skin near his ribs and _twists_.

Jamie comes out of sleep swinging and flailing, nearly tumbling Tyler head-first off of the bed. Tyler rests more of his weight on Jamie and rides it out, leaning over his face. “It’s me, you asshole.”

Jamie flops back onto the bed, eyes wide. Muffled but unmistakable, he says, “What the fuck, Segs?”

Tyler’s pretty sure he’s having a panic attack. “We have a fucking Immigration agent in our living room, _honey,_ and I don’t know about you but I really don’t wanna get deported today.”

Jamie blinks, owlishly. “Right now?”

“For Christ’s sake, Jamie, _yes_. Apparently they don’t give a shit that it’s the asscrack of dawn, but you and I better start acting real fucking married real fucking soon or this is gonna go downhill fast.”

It takes a couple of minutes for them to get dressed (all of Jamie’s shirts are so _big_ on Tyler and he tries desperately not to think about that right now), during which time the officer has apparently started the coffee pot. Jamie thanks her effusively, shaking her hand and saying things like _It’s just Jamie to you, ma’am_ and overall handling the situation with a shit-ton more decorum than Tyler did when he opened up the front door five minutes ago.

She waits for everyone to get a cup and gestures them to the living room. She takes the armchair and Jamie sits down next to Tyler on the couch, sides pressed close. “Look,” she sighs. “I realize that this is intrusive and I apologize for that. I’ll try to make this as painless as possible, okay?”

Tyler nods.

“My name is Officer Carter, but you can call me Jocelyn. I’ll be your caseworker and evaluate certain aspects of your situation in order to determine whether or not Mr. Benn’s – sorry, _Tyler’s_ – green card to work in the U.S. is valid. Do you have any questions?”

“What do you mean _aspects_ of our situation?” Jamie asks.

“I will be evaluating your interpersonal relationship with each other, as well as interviewing people around you in order to validate your relationship status.”

Tyler winces. “That might be a bit…tricky.”

Jocelyn laughs. “Oh, I am well aware of your circumstances. My daddy used to take me to Rangers games growing up. I understand that the larger hockey community is, shall we say, not that hospitable to people who are different?”

“We’re not trying to keep you from doing your job, ma’am.” Jamie sighs. “We’d just appreciate a little bit of discretion.”

Jocelyn mimes zipping her lips shut and throwing away the key. “Discretion is my middle name, Misters Benn. Are you ready?” At Jamie and Tyler’s resigned nods, she clasps her hands together. “First question, then! How did you two meet?”

 

*

 

“I’m going to go to prison,” Tyler mumbles, muffled by the pillow he has pulled over his face. “Do you think they send green card fraudsters to Guantanamo?”

Jamie sighs, tugging on the pillow. Tyler clutches it tighter. “Are you trying to suffocate yourself? Calm down, we did alright.”

“Alright?” Jordie says. He had the gall to walk into their apartment just in time for breakfast, a solid three hours into the interview, and now he thinks he can criticize? Tyler hopes Jamie is glaring at him enough for both of them. “You forgot your own husband’s middle name, Chubs.”

“I _panicked_ , okay?” Jamie mutters, finally succeeding in yanking the pillow out of Tyler’s grasp. His cry of victory turns into a groan when Tyler flips over and buries his face into the blankets. “Tyler, it’s fine. It was early and I hadn’t had coffee yet. There has to be a margin of error for those sorts of things.”

“Do you think I’ll have to wear an orange jumpsuit? I used to have nightmares I was drafted by the Flyers.”

Jordie claps his hands together. “Well, I don’t know about you but I’ve worked up quite the appetite. How does eggs benedict sound?”

Tyler flips him off.

“None for you, Segs, if you’re going to be that way.”

“Look,” Jamie cajoles, steadily pulling the blankets towards the edge of the bed. Tyler’s body slides reluctantly along with it. “Let’s get up, get something to eat, and we’ll figure out what to do next. It’s no different than reviewing some game tape, Tyler. We’ll make a plan.”

Tyler finally looks up, eyesight still bleary. Jamie is standing against the backdrop of his windows; the midmorning sunlight highlights the brown strands in his hair, the breadth of his shoulders. Tyler sighs. “Fine, but I’m making you some flash cards.”

“That’s alright with me,” Jamie says, laughing.

Tyler’s phone buzzes from its spot across the hall on his side table. Jamie’s chimes a second later beside them. They can hear the stupid goal horn Jordie has for a ringtone go off immediately after.

Jamie and Tyler freeze, staring at each other.

“Well, that can’t be good,” Jamie murmurs and clambers across the bed to reach his phone.

It’s a text, grouped to all three of them from Brownie. _Uh-oh,_ it reads, with a link attached. Jamie clicks it and Tyler watches over his shoulder as the Deadspin home page loads, his heart sinking with each passing second. There’s a picture of them from one of their first games together. Jamie had just scored a goal to give them the lead with four minutes left and Tyler had slammed him into the boards during his celly. They’re grinning stupidly, clinging to each other with their faces just inches apart.

_BREAKING NEWS,_ the headline reads. _BENN AND SEGUIN WED, BECOME NHL’S FIRST SAME-SEX COUPLE._

“Fuck,” Jamie exhales. It sounds like the words are being punched out of him. “Who…how…?”

Tyler leans forward, resting his forehead between Jamie’s shoulder blades. He’s putting off heat like a furnace; he’s breathing like he’s just run a bag skate. “Dude…our moms are _so_ going to kill us.”

Jamie chokes out a laugh. “Would we be terrible people if we just turned our phones off right now?”

Tyler can hear his phone in his bedroom; it keeps buzzing until it finally works its way off of the stand and hits the carpeted floor with a dull _thud_ that muffles any further sounds. The notifications on Jamie’s are flashing along the top: people texting, calling, at’ing him on twitter. Jordie’s goal horn goes off a few more times in the kitchen before he finally turns the sound off with a muttered curse.

“I think that would make us horrible people,” Tyler agrees and smiles when Jamie tries to hide the way his face falls. “But I think I want to sit in here and eat breakfast in bed with you more than I want to be a good person.”

Jamie perks up, glancing over his shoulder. “One last meal?”

“Well, if we’re going with _that_ line of reasoning then we’ll need something fancier than eggs benedict,” Tyler teases.

“I heard that, asshole!” Jordie shouts from the kitchen and Jamie collapses back against Tyler, shaking with laughter.

Tyler supports his warm weight, staring at the crinkling of his eyes, the pink of his mouth. _It was supposed to be easy,_ he thinks and plucks Jamie’s phone from his loose grip, turning off the sound and tossing it to the carpet below. “Let’s deal with the consequences of our whirlwind romance later.”

Jamie nods, leaning his head back to rest on Tyler’s shoulder. They stay like that, intertwined, until Jordie calls that breakfast is ready.

Tyler can feel the ghost of Jamie’s warmth for the rest of the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the World Cup of hockey. I may not have cared about the outcome, but it finally ignited the hockey fandom on my feeds and gave me inspiration.
> 
> You can always find me at thunder-strange.tumblr.com or at twitter.com/thunderstrange
> 
> Your amazing comments, bookmarks, and kudos always mean the world to me!


	7. Chapter 7

The echo of conversation in the locker room cuts off just as Tyler pushes the door open. Most of the guys are only half geared up even though morning skate starts in less than ten minutes; they’re standing around in small groups, heads close. It feels like the entire room turns as one to stare at him and then just as quickly looks away. Tyler freezes in the doorway and the silence hangs heavy in the air until someone finally clears their throat and conversations start up again. Tyler knows exactly what everyone was talking about in the scant moments they’d all been together without either the Benn brothers or himself intruding. He walks, head down, to his stall and starts to undress.

Pevs slides across the bench, shoving Gonch out of the way. The Russian swears at him but budges over an inch. “Hey, Seggy.”

“Hey,” Tyler mutters, not looking up from where he’s intently unbuttoning his shirt. The conversations immediately surrounding them trail off into expectant silence and Tyler has to fight against closing his eyes in despair. _Way to be less than subtle, guys_. “What’s up?”

“So…you and Jamie, huh?”

Tyler doesn’t know exactly what the team has been told by management yet but apparently they were going to take the rumors and run with them. “Yeah,” he finally croaks out, his throat tight. “Me and Jamie.” The locker room has fallen quiet around them. A few of the guys finally nod, curiosity satisfied, and start to lace up their skates. Tyler pulls his Under Armour on.

“You know,” Pevs says with a sly grin, “he could’ve done much better than you. I mean, just look at Dales over there.”

He’s joking – Tyler _knows_ he’s just joking – but the words still hit deep. Out of the two of them, Jamie has the most to lose with this unexpected announcement. Tyler tries not to think about Jamie’s voice, hoarse with apologies when he’d finally called his mom back after breakfast. He had tried to put on a brave face afterwards, even encouraged Tyler to call his own family to explain, but Tyler couldn’t help but feel like something there had been irrevocably damaged.

And he knew it was all his fault.

The cycle of silence followed quickly by awkward conversation heralds Jamie’s entrance to the locker room. Tyler can practically feel the weight of Jamie’s worried gaze and turns back to his stall. “I know,” he finally says, quietly, with just a touch too much honesty.

 

*

 

Practice runs long, so Tyler is _beyond_ ready to go home, force Jordie to cook something and catch up on his shows when Coach motions them aside. He’s smoothing his moustache down in the reflection from the glass, watching as a couple of the guys skate a few extra laps. “The front office wants us to do a Sensitivity Seminar,” he says and Tyler can practically hear the capitalization. “Maybe get a couple of the people from You Can Play involved.”

Jamie sighs. Practice had been tough and Jamie had constantly been on the lookout for even the slightest sign of belligerence from their teammates. “No offense, Coach, but I don’t see how that’s gonna help the team right now.”

Ruff snorts. “Maybe because there’s a difference between teaching tolerance in theory versus when it’s about guys that they already know?”

“I understand that,” Jamie counters but he sounds frustrated, like he can’t quite find a way to politely weasel out of this. “I just don’t want our marriage to be turned into some kind of…PR spectacle.”

“You’re playing in a male-dominated intolerant sport, son. This is already being considered a goddamn spectacle,” Ruff says and slaps Tyler’s shoulder pads, trying to soften his words. “Just let me know what you want to do. Soon.”

“What do you think?” Jamie asks as soon as Ruff is out of earshot. “Don’t we have some kind of, I don’t know, obligation to do it?”

“We could set it up and then play hooky.” Tyler tries not to look too hopeful.

“I don’t know,” Jamie says, doubtfully. “It’ll probably be mandatory.”

“Well then, what good is being married to the captain if I can’t get out of shit?”

Jamie laughs, trying to trip him up. “Hey! You have me to come home to every night. Isn’t that enough of a perk?”

Tyler glances at Jamie’s sweat-drenched hair and ruddy cheeks and the stupid red mark across his forehead where his helmet rubs and shrugs, nonchalant. “That’s still up for debate,” he says and sprints down the hallway as fast as he can to avoid Jamie’s retaliatory shove.

 

*

 

It takes a few days but eventually the whispered conversations and searching glances stop. The Sensitivity Seminar also goes a lot better than Tyler thought it would. Some of the younger guys still try to sit back or disappear into their chairs because hockey players are perpetually fourteen years old and don’t talk about this kind of stuff, but the majority actually pay attention to what the You Can Play representatives say. Jordie – ever their champion – sat towards the very front, tall and attentive, glaring down anyone who looked like they were trying to space out.

Tyler walks into the club kitchen a week later before their home game against Chicago and straight into Horcoff and Fiddler. They have one of those store-bought sheet cakes sitting between them, _Congratulations!_ written across the top in a beautiful cursive font. One, or both, of them is trying to wipe away the pink buttercream swirls from the edges and recreate it with Stars victory green. It looks like something a five-year-old would make.

Fidds freezes, piping bag in hand, and exchanges a look with Shawn. “Hey, Seggy,” he says, slowly. “Do you think you could just…forget you ever saw this?”

Tyler crosses his heart, grabs his Gatorade out of the fridge, and walks back to the locker room before he can start crying all over them.

 

*

 

The game is a straight up dogfight. Tyler’s been hit and slashed more in one game than he’s been in his entire career and, if the retaliation by his teammates is any indication, they can see it too. The refs are largely turning a blind eye, letting the Hawks play their _gritty_ hockey, and Tyler starts to see red around the third unanswered goal. He high-sticks Shaw right in the fucking face during a puck battle behind the net and doesn’t even feel bad when the guy hits the ice, clutching a bloody nose.

Remorse finally sets in when he settles into the penalty box and watches Sharp score a power play goal because of him. It’s only the second period but the Stars are moving like they’re in triple overtime, haggard and disconnected from one another. Jamie’s trying to get everyone pumped back up but any good he’s done immediately dissolves when Sharp gets _another_ goal.

_I’m sorry,_ Tyler wants to tell him. _I know you brought me here so that I could help, but I keep making things worse._

Jamie’s taking a face-off against Toews, Tyler on his left, when the ref drops the puck and Jamie cross-checks Toews right across the chest. Toews stumbles backwards, trying to stay upright, and spits something at Jamie. Jamie nods decidedly, drops his gloves, and smashes his fist right into Toews’ face before he can even drop his stick. The referee is blowing the play dead and Tyler knows he’s a little too close to the fight – Jordie is tugging the back of his jersey to inch him towards the bench – but he can’t look away.

Jamie is all snarl and bulk and he’s hitting Toews like it’s his genuine pleasure. Like this is what he was made for. Toews finally gets his gloves off and counters with a few hits of his own, but Jamie just shrugs them off and keeps going. He twists his fist into Toews’ jersey and nearly busts his hand on his helmet. The punch glances down and catches Toews across the jaw and he goes down like a bag of bricks, Jamie pulled along with him. The refs swarm them, trying to untangle Jamie’s grip and make sure Toews’ head didn’t hit the ice.

There’s no _good fight,_ no shoulder patting comradery after it’s done. Jamie is staring at Toews like he wants to do worse than a busted mouth to him and probably would if the refs weren’t around. Both teams are banging their sticks on the ice and the crowd is absolutely losing it and yet somehow, in all that chaos, Jamie’s eyes find Tyler. He’s got blood dripping down his face from a sliced cheekbone and his left eye is already swelling shut, jersey pulled over his shoulders and hair completely fucking wild.

He’s the most beautiful thing Tyler’s ever seen.

Jamie smiles, vicious, and throws his hands up into the air. The roar of the home crowd swells in answer to their captain’s command and Tyler can’t stop himself from joining in, a wordless shout. The sound echoes along the Stars bench, sticks hitting the ice and boards so hard Tyler’s amazed they don’t all break. Jamie shrugs off the ref’s guiding hands and heads towards the tunnel to the locker room to get cleaned up. He nudges Tyler’s shoulder as he passes by, bruised fist bumping Tyler’s helmet. “That was for you,” he says, voice rough, and Tyler feels his breath catch and then Jamie’s gone.

They still lose 6-2 but later, pressed against Jamie’s side and eating terrible store cake and watching Rous reenact his two goals, Tyler thinks that maybe winning isn’t _everything._

*

 

On the flight to Nashville Tyler breaks the unspoken rules of the plane and sits next to Jamie. It’s only an hour and a half flight so neither bother changing out of their suits, but Jamie’s warmth still bleeds through where they’re pressed together. Jamie looks over, startled, and sets his ice pack down. The stiches in his cheek bulge against the surrounding skin and everything is already turning a dark shade of purple. “Everything okay?”

Tyler nods, clicking on another article on his Google alerts. _TYLER SEGUIN MARRIES TEAMMATE,_ the title reads. _DEATH OF A HOCKEY STAR?_ Unsurprisingly, it’s from Boston’s FOX affiliate. _BENN UNHINGED,_ reads another with a close-up shot of Jamie’s bloodied face after his fight.

Jamie sighs. “I really wish you would stop going through those. It doesn’t matter what they say –”

“I never used to pay attention to what Boston was saying about me and look what that got me,” Tyler interrupts, quietly.

He can feel Jamie tense beside him. “A place where you’re appreciated?” Jamie finally says, his voice cold. “An organization and teammates who actually care about you?”

“I didn’t –” Tyler groans, running his hand through his hair. He tugs on it, frustrated. “I didn’t mean it like _that_ , okay? I just meant that I ignored everything the Bruins were saying about me because I was a second overall pick, ya know? I thought I was _safe,_ Jamie, and then suddenly I got traded and it felt like it came from out of nowhere.”

Jamie’s quiet for a moment. He nods towards the phone. “So what are you looking for?”

“What the Stars are _really_ saying. They’re saying one thing to our faces but maybe they’re saying something different to each other or to the media.”

“Oh, Tyler,” Jamie says, and his voice is just so _sad_ that Tyler can’t help but look at him. “They’re not going to trade us. What you see is what you get here.”

“I’m not going to be surprised again, Jamie,” Tyler promises, earnest. “I won’t let them blindside us.” _I won’t let them separate us,_ he doesn’t say. Hockey, after all, is still just a business. It doesn’t matter how much Nill or Ruff likes them; if they don’t produce then they’ll be moved. It’s as simple as that. In his head it sounds like a perfectly valid promise to make, but Jamie is still staring at him like Tyler has just told him the saddest thing in the world.

Tyler gets up to sit in his own seat and tries to ignore the pitying looks everybody shoots him.

 

*

 

“Be charming, but don’t seem like you’re trying to be too slick,” Megan says while typing something on her phone. “Try to seem open and honest, but don’t volunteer information.”

“I’m getting confused,” Tyler says.

“I know, I know,” Megan soothes distractedly, still typing. “We’ve already pre-approved the questions and Kathryn has been kind enough to agree not to go off script. You two just need to sit there and answer her honestly.”

Alana and the entire PR department had done a great job keeping the media off their backs for a few weeks, but now everyone was clambering to hear the news directly from the source. Jamie was on the other side of the interview room, nodding along to whatever Lindsay was saying. His black eye had finally faded to a sickly yellowish-green but he kept wincing whenever the makeup girl patted it and then waving off her apologies. His hair was styled and his suit actually fit for once, which was a miracle unto itself, and Tyler felt that little jump in his belly that he’d come to associate with Jamie’s presence.

It wasn’t until they were finally sitting down that his anxiety began to rear its ugly head. _Deep breaths,_ Tyler thought, but the lungful’s he was taking in still don’t seem like they were enough. He was beginning to sweat through his shirt, wondering if they’d be willing to post-pone the interview for an hour – or just until he was calm again– when Jamie whispers “Oh!” and reaches for Tyler’s necklace.

The soft brush of Jamie’s fingers against the back of his neck make Tyler freeze. Jamie, apparently oblivious to Tyler’s inner turmoil, began rotating the thin chain until the clasp appeared. Unhooking it, he slid the thin silver wedding band off before reclosing it and tucking it back under Tyler’s collar. “Almost forgot this,” he murmurs and makes a _gimme_ gesture. Tyler slides his left hand into Jamie’s almost on autopilot and watches as Jamie slides the band onto his ring finger. It’s an uncanny deja vu to their wedding, only this time Jamie’s hand are cool and dry and they’re surrounded by veritable strangers.

“Thanks,” Tyler says and definitely doesn’t miss the reassuring weight of the metal against his sternum. The place where he’s kept Jamie’s promise to him close to his heart and not out here, where people can see and judge.

Kathryn is watching them with a little smile on her face, hands folded primly. “Are we ready to begin?”

Jamie nods, placing his hand – his own wedding ring sparkling in the light – on Tyler’s knee and squeezing. “Ready when you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will largely revolve around exposing Jamie Benn to be the big Christmas nerd that we all know him to be and I, for one, am excited to write it.


	8. Chapter 8

They almost miss their red-eye, the rest of the team still sloppily celebrating their 5-2 win in some L.A. dive bar when Jamie, Jordie, and Tyler get on a plane bound for Victoria.

An hour into the flight Tyler finds himself wedged into the cramped bathroom, having an anxiety attack. The edges of his vision keep fading out on him.

“I’m going to meet his _parents,_ ” he wheezes and Brownie’s unexpected laughter rattles the speaker. Tyler hisses and turns the volume down. “What’s so funny?”

“Dude,” Brownie says, his voice already sleep-slurred. “I’ve seen you strip down starkers and jump into a frozen lake while surrounded by dozens of ridiculously beautiful people, and _this_ is what gives you cold feet?”

“I don’t know, where any of those people my fucking _in-laws_ ,” Tyler hisses back and freezes when he hears someone pause outside of the lavatory door. He waits for a knock but the person apparently has second thoughts and moves along.

“Touché,” Brownie sighs, rueful. “Are you seriously hiding out in the bathroom? You know those are only for pissing or becoming part of the Mile High club, right?”

“Whatever, man,” Tyler says, because he damn well can’t say _Jamie told me he thinks his family is going to love me and I panicked and ran away._ Even he has to have some dignity left.

Brownie groans. “Just…don’t freak out right now, okay? You gotta just be yourself, dude. It’s the only thing you _can_ do.”

“What kind of garbage advice is that?” Tyler asks and hangs up.

 

*

 

It’s still dark out when the plane finally touches down and they stumble their way off, bleary-eyed and dragging their bags behind them. Tyler, too exhausted to try to navigate the terminal and fight against the tide of humanity rushing to catch their own early morning flights, simply threads a finger into the back of Jamie’s belt loop and follows wherever he leads.

He’s busy staring down at the strange teal geometric patterns on the terminal carpeting, half-heartedly trying to avoid the sporadic threads of differing colors, when Jamie abruptly stops and Tyler runs straight into his back.

“Jenny,” Jordie exhales, like he’s just walked a hundred miles and found the only oasis in the desert. “Thank god, I thought we were going to have to get a rental car.”

Jenny cuffs Jordie across the head and pulls him into a hug, standing on her tip-toes to hook her chin over his shoulder. “Asshole,” she says, affectionately. Her smile widens when she sees Jamie and Tyler takes a step back, reluctantly dropping his hold. He watches as Jamie tries to pick up both Jenny and Jordie despite their strident – and eventually, violent – protests, and Tyler feels a vise-like tightening in his chest at the thought of his own sisters. They’ll be spending the last two days of Christmas break in Brampton but Tyler has been so wrapped up in worrying about what his mom and dad and sisters will say or think about this whole situation that he’s forgotten just how much he _misses_ them.

The Benn siblings eventually part looking a little worse for wear. Jamie’s ridiculously over-gelled hair is sticking up in tufts and Jenny has some red across her face from where Jordie rubbed his beard against her cheek. They’re all still smiling but Tyler sees the way Jenny’s eyes turn calculating when she finally turns to him. He fights not to fidget.

“Jenny,” Jamie introduces, draping his arm across Tyler’s shoulders. Tyler presses closer to Jamie’s side and prays his smile doesn’t look too much like a grimace. “This is Tyler, my husband.”

“Nice to finally meet you,” Jenny says and he can see the way her gaze gets caught on Jamie’s wedding ring. He didn’t even notice that Jamie had put it back on after their last game. But she just says, “I hope you know what you’re doing. We’re kind of a rowdy bunch,” before stepping close and kissing him on both cheeks.

When she moves away to lead the way to her car, Jamie pulls Tyler in tight and smothers a smile against his temple. “One sister down, only a hundred more relatives to go,” he breathes and laughs at Tyler’s answering groan of dismay.

 

*

 

If Tyler had ever wondered where Jamie got his Christmas obsession from, the front yard of the Benn’s childhood home would have answered all his questions. There wasn’t an inch of yard or house not covered in twinklingly lights or inflatable Santa’s and reindeer or monstrous candy canes taller than the roof line. The house only became fully visible at the end of a long walkway guarded by man-sized nutcrackers, the red front door decorated with three separate wreathes.

“Huh,” Jamie mutters. “Mom and Dad have really scaled it back this year.” When neither of the other Benn siblings laugh at what had to have obviously been a joke, Tyler can’t help but look around with renewed horror.

“Now I understand why management had to ask you to stop giving out candy canes during practice,” he mutters.

Jamie scoffs. “The end of November could be considered pre-Christmas.”

“It was _October._ ”

“Okay,” Jamie says, “ _pre_ -pre-Christmas, then.”

The house itself is cozy, an old Craftsman with smaller inter-connecting rooms. They find Mrs. Benn in the kitchen towards the back of the house, up to her elbows in flour and egg and singing along to the radio. She shares Jenny’s bright blue eyes and Jamie’s ruddy cheeks, but her scowl of determination as she whips around the room is all her own.

“Oh!” she cries. “My boys are here!” and immediately points towards the stove. “One of you needs to get the potatoes au gratin out before they burn.”

“ _Mom,_ ” Jamie whines and Mrs. Benn clicks her tongue at him to hurry. “Fine,” he mutters, shoving on some mitts and opening the oven door, blinking against the wave of heat that’s released. “This is your new son-in-law, Tyler. Tyler, meet my mom. Never come in here unless you wanna get pressed into servitude.”

But Tyler strips his suit jacket off and rolls up his sleeves. He might be a little intimidated by Jenny but he’s always known just what to say to make moms love him. “Do you need any help with that, Mrs. Benn?”

Mrs. Benn smiles, eyeing the way his biceps strain against his dress shirt. “We need thirty of these Christmas cakes done by tomorrow morning. Hopefully you haven’t done arm day in a while, dear.”

 

*

 

By the time Mr. Benn comes home Tyler is in his undershirt, sweating profusely and trying to keep his hands from cramping up. Mrs. Benn refuses to use an electric mixer as a matter of principle and Tyler, the idiot that he is, volunteers his services as a human-whisk. Jamie, Jordie, and Jenny had walked out over two hours ago, leaving Tyler to fall into the kind of mindless zone that can only come from pure physical exhaustion. The most he can do is nod wearily at Mrs. Benn’s instructions and mix, whisk, or knead whatever she put directly in front of him.

Mr. Benn looks like an older, beardless version of Jordie. He even has the same twinkle in his eye when he sees Tyler’s sorry state and pats his wife gently on the back. “Honey, don’t you think you should let Tyler take a nap before everyone starts coming over for Christmas Eve?”

Tyler – awake since his pre-game nap yesterday – hopes he doesn’t look too desperate.

Mrs. Benn nods her assent and pats Tyler’s cheek. “Sorry for keeping you up like this, dear. It was just so nice to finally have somebody willing to help me out during this stressful season,” she says, with a pointed look in Mr. Benn’s direction. “We put you and Jamie up in his old room. Up the stairs and first door on your left.”

“I can help,” Mr. Benn says.

“What?” she says as Tyler climbs up the staircase. “You mean like how you _helped_ set the patio on fire during Thanksgiving?”

“How was I supposed to know there was too much oil for the turkey to fit?” Mr. Benn mutters, sullen.

In complete contrast to Tyler’s childhood bedroom come guest room, Jamie’s bedroom looks like it’s stuck in some kind of perpetual time loop. Jerseys and memorabilia and hockey player’s posters litter the walls while an old weight bench and dumbbell rack are squeezed into the far corner, gathering dust.

Jamie is already asleep on his bed.

Tyler stumbles to a stop and stares.

Jamie’s still fully dressed in his suit jacket and pants, but his tie is gone and the first three buttons of his dress shirt are undone. Tyler unlaces his dress shoes and slowly eases them off his feet, lining them up at the bottom of the bed alongside his own so they won’t be tripped over. Jamie’s splayed form takes up the majority of the bed but there’s nowhere else in the house Tyler can sleep without questions. Besides he’s tired, kinda cold in just his undershirt, and he’s pretty sure that his arms are going to fall off. Overall, the idea of Jamie waking up next to him and freaking out is pretty low on his _Give A Shit_ list.

He grabs the quilt from the foot of the bed and eases his weight, inch by excruciating inch, onto the mattress. There’s a dull groan from the springs but Jamie doesn’t so much as twitch, even when Tyler finally curls into his side. Tyler rests his head against Jamie’s ribcage, matching his own breathing to the slow steady inhale and exhales. Ironically, he feels wide awake for the first time since they were out on the ice. The early afternoon sun is fighting against the curtains to illuminate Jamie’s face; the soft shadow of his stubble, the exhausted bruises under his eyes.

Tyler measures his breathing, trying to stay calm, but he can already feel himself floundering under the weight pressing against his chest. He knows that he’s falling in love with Jamie, okay? Has since he said _I do,_ or maybe from the moment he saw Jamie standing in that Las Vegas airport like some unshakable stone that Tyler could cling to. Hell, maybe even since he heard Jamie’s sleep-rough voice and imagined the breadth of his shoulders against his sheets.

It’s just…a lot to deal with when you’re falling for a man who only married you because (worst case scenario) you’re just his teammate or (best case scenario) you’re just his friend.

The twilight glimmers off Jamie’s wedding ring and Tyler can’t help but reach out to touch it. It’s skin warm, nestled against the callouses on Jamie’s palm. Tyler reaches up, sliding his own ring on against its thin chain, and closes his eyes.

 

*

 

When he wakes up, the sun has gone down and there’s a low murmuring of voices downstairs. He’s pressed against the length of Jamie, seeking out warmth in his sleep, but the chest he’s lying on is moving a little too fast for Jamie to still be asleep. Tyler holds his breath for a moment – waiting to get shoved off, maybe even asked to leave if Jamie’s really freaked out – but exhales with a little shudder when a gentle hand cradles the back of his head.

“Hey,” he whispers and barely recognizes his own tremulous voice.

“Did you get enough sleep?” Jamie mutters as his thick fingers start to card through Tyler’s hair, temple to nape.

Tyler squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face deeper into Jamie’s shirt. _This is all just a dream. Any minute now you’re going to wake up by him launching your ass out of the bed._ “Can we stay here? Just for a few more minutes?”

The hand pauses for a moment before pulling away. Before Tyler can mourn its loss he feels it settle against his left ear, immediately cutting out the escalating noise of the gathering below.

“Okay,” Jamie says, but all Tyler can hear is the reverberation of the word in his chest and the unfaltering _whoosh whoosh whoosh_ of Jamie’s heart.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when the bedroom door cracks open, the hallway light illuminating their entwined figures. Tyler flinches and tries to sit up but freezes when Jamie’s hand moves to cover his eyes, blocking out the light.

“Time to wake up, Chubbs.” Tyler relaxes when he recognizes Jordie’s voice. “Aunt Mary is here and she’s pissed that you didn’t invite her to the wedding. Like, she’s-going-to-write-you-out-of-her-will level of pissed.”

“Oh god,” Jamie groans and, horrified, Tyler feels a sharp ache start near the pit of his stomach. He tries to subtly move his hips away from where they’re bracketing Jamie’s thigh but stills when Jamie just shifts closer. “Let me get Tyler up and then we’ll be down.”

“No hurry,” Jordie says and pulls the door shut behind him.

Jamie sighs, exasperated, and turns a little more into where they’re pressed together. His thigh slides between Tyler’s legs with the move and Tyler has to bite back a whimper. He finally settles on his left side, Tyler’s head resting on his bicep and their legs tangled. When he finally lifts his hand from Tyler’s eyes, the outline of his body shines with the light coming from around the doorjamb. “Better?” he asks, and lets out a low laugh when Tyler just blinks up at him owlishly. “I noticed you didn’t like the light.”

_Oh._ “Yeah, thanks,” Tyler mumbles and tries to think about anything except the weight of Jamie’s legs against his own. He pretends to shift for a better position, canting his hips away. The last thing he needs is for Jamie to feel something pressing against him and realize that it’s not a cell phone. He doesn’t move an inch further than he needs to, though. “Who’s Aunt Mary?”

Jamie sighs. “She’s my mom’s sister. She’s about as big as I am and lives in the woods with her partner, Denise. Dresses in flannel and collects axes and everything. She thinks living up to the Canadian butch image is the absolute _height_ of ironic hilarity.”

Tyler tries to muffle his laughter against Jamie’s shirt. “I like her already.”

“Oh,” Jamie says, “she’s going to love you. I, on the other hand, have probably already been disowned.”

Tyler reaches up, feeling for Jamie’s cheek and patting it tenderly. “Don’t worry. I’ll be the bridge that spans the familial vitriol and brings you back together again.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Jamie says and in the darkness his voice is so gravelly, so _affectionate,_ that Tyler’s breath hitches.

Jamie props himself up on an elbow and Tyler can practically feel the heavy weight of his gaze. “Tyler?”

Tyler summons up a smile, grateful for the darkness that hides the brittle edges. “We should probably get up before they sic Jordie after us again.”

It takes Tyler a minute to untangle himself and escape into the ensuite bathroom. He quickly adjusts himself under the florescent lighting, biting his lip guiltily at the ache of pleasure, and stares into the mirror. He looks sleep rumpled, hair sticking up everywhere and eyes lidded. Turning the faucet on, he watches the water slowly circle down the drain.

“Fuck.”

*

 

Jamie is already gone when Tyler finally emerges from the bathroom, face scrubbed pink and wet around the collar. He straightens his shirt and stumbles down the stairs only to run right into a jam-packed house. There’s a choir of people singing Christmas carols terribly off-key, while others rush in and out of the living room with plates full of food. A little boy who can’t be older than ten or eleven sees Tyler and screams at the top of his lungs, “He came downstairs! Can I go play video games now?”, and then pushes past Tyler without waiting for an answer from his haggard-looking father.

Said haggard-looking father just hands Tyler some eggnog and leans against the balustrade, sighing. “You must be Tyler. I’m Jimmy, one of the cousins.”

Tyler takes a sip and tears up at the burn of bourbon. He coughs delicately. “The Benn’s really love their J-names, don’t they?”

Jimmy laughs, raising his own cup for a toast. “I named my kids Kenneth, Kathryn, and Kory, so I’m pretty sure I can’t throw stones. Here’s to hoping they don’t grow up resenting me.”

“Hear, hear,” Tyler says for lack of a better reply and downs the rest of his glass.

Jamie stays conspicuously absent for most of the night. Tyler stays within the orbit of Jordie and Jenny, relying on them for introductions for the family members that descend on him en masse, but Jamie stays a figure in the edge of his periphery. Tyler tries to fight against the crush of relatives to get to Jamie’s side a couple of times, but he always disappears around the nearest corner before Tyler can reach him.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was avoiding me,” he finally confesses to Great-Aunt Margaret after the third time he tries to track Jamie down only to see him duck into another room.

Great-Aunt Margaret pats his hand. “Did you two have a fight?”

Tyler frowns, swirling his drink. “I don’t think so?”

“Then he must just be busy, dear. You know how hard his mama worked on his party. She probably just needed his help, especially since her other children are being useless.”

Tyler follows her gaze to where Jenny and Jordie seem to be having a contest of who can do the most morally questionable things to a blow-up Santa. Jordie starts to reenact a scene from Magic Mike, ignoring all the crumpled napkins being thrown at him and the cries of _not in front of the children_!

Great-Aunt Margaret tuts and pours some more brandy into Tyler’s cup. “Now, I’m going to tell you a little secret that my own dear Mama told me years ago: you can stay angry right up until you have to go to bed together.”

Tyler chokes mid-drink, feeling the slimy eggnog work its way up into his nasal passages. Great-Aunt Margaret takes pity on him and gives him a few hardy slaps on the back. “ _Excuse me?”_

“I didn’t mean it like that, so get your mind out of the gutter,” she sighs. “It means that the marriage bed is sacred. You can stay angry all you like, but don’t bring it into bed with you. How do you think Herbert and I have stayed married for almost 40 years?” She gestures to an older man playing charades, dressed in a suit such a hideous shade of salmon that it wouldn’t look out of place on Giroux. “Trust me, he’s spent many a night on our couch over his choice in fashion.”

Tyler wants to laugh, but she’s looking at Herbert like she misses him desperately even though he’s only about twenty feet away. He wonders what his face looks like when he’s looking at Jamie. “Thanks, Margaret.”

“It’s no problem, baby. Just talk to your man when you get the chance. I’m sure everything is just fine.”

But Tyler doesn’t get the chance.

He goes to bed alone. He wakes up alone.

 

*

 

Downstairs, Jamie is asleep on the loveseat. His long legs stretch over the armrests and Tyler knows from personal experience that his back has got to be giving him hell for it. Jenny and Jordie apparently fell asleep in the middle of a battle for the pullout couch. Jenny is hanging halfway off, her long blonde hair trailing to the floor; Jordie dead-set in the middle, spooning the now deflated Santa they were harassing last night.

Tyler tip-toes into the kitchen and finds Mrs. Benn seating at the table, the coffee pot already brewing. The kitchen looks like a disaster zone, dishes piled up everywhere and empty liquor bottles stacked next to the trash for takeout. Tyler pours himself a cup and sits down next to her. “Crazy party, huh?”

Mrs. Benn laughs, stirring more cream into her coffee. “Christmas Eve is when we usually celebrate all together. Thankfully Christmas day is a little more…intimate.”

Tyler scratches his stubble, pointing towards the living room. “It seems like those three wore themselves out.”

Mrs. Benn rolls her eyes. “If by ‘wore out’ you mean performed a strip tease when there were children around, then yes.” Her tone turns fond. “Although Jamie _was_ a big help, more so than he’s been in years.”

Tyler feels his heart stutter a bit. “Well, he fell asleep on the loveseat last night so I guess you wore him out.”

“Oh, no,” Mrs. Benn says, getting up to fix another cup of coffee. Tyler can hear the slight creaking of footsteps upstairs – Mr. Benn must’ve woken up. “They’ve always slept downstairs on Christmas Eve, ever since they were children. I’m surprised Jamie didn’t tell you that.”

Tyler takes a sip of his coffee and doesn’t flinch at the way it burns his tongue. “I guess it must’ve just slipped his mind.”

 

*

 

Tyler goes upstairs to start packing for their afternoon flight to Toronto as the Benn siblings wake up. By the time he comes back downstairs, everyone is finally caffeinated enough to begin divvying up the presents under the giant fir tree. He’s pleasantly surprised when one of the presents makes its way towards him and smiles uncertainly at Mr. and Mrs. Benn.

“You didn’t have to get me anything!”

Mrs. Benn rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Of course we got you something, dear. You’re part of the family now.”

Tyler stares down at the little cartoon elves and reindeer that parade across the wrapping paper. “I didn’t know what to get you guys, so I just signed my name to Jamie and Jordie’s presents.”

“Wait, you did _what_?” Jordie says and starts pawing through the veritable mountain of boxes in front of his mom.

Mrs. Benn slaps his hands away in a practiced move. “That’s alright, Tyler. We didn’t really know what you like either, so we went with a safe choice.” She nods towards the small, flat box on his lap. “Go ahead.”

Tyler rips the wrapping paper and box open and lets his gift slid out into his hand. It’s a leather dog collar, supple and dyed victory green. The buckle is a beautiful brushed silver and a nameplate spells out _Marshall_ with tiny silver stars bracketing it. Tyler stares at it, speechless in his gratitude.

“We went with an extra-large size,” Mr. Benn says, quietly. “We were told that Marshall was a…well-loved dog.”

“He means your dog’s fat,” Jordie says.

Tyler can’t help but laugh at that. He squeezes the collar so tightly the buckle digs into his hand. “I can’t thank you enough, for all of this.” He gestures to the kitchen, the seat he’d sat in most of the evening listening to Great-Aunt Margaret, the collar.

“It’s no problem, dear,” Mrs. Benn grabs a present from her own pile at random. “Oh, look at that! I wonder what Jordie _and_ Tyler got me this year,” she says and ignores Jordie’s squawk of indignation.

Tyler oohs-and-ahhs at the appropriate moments, complimenting everyone on their gifts, but he never let’s go of the collar.

 

*

 

“You’re being awfully quiet,” Jamie says when their plane has finally taken off. The Benn’s had opted for an early breakfast and a short, but ridiculously competitive, snowman-building contest before Jamie and Tyler had to leave for the airport.

“I’m fine,” Tyler replies and tries to buff the feeling back into his fingers. His bones still feel cold from the snow-angels he and Jenny made all up and down the street with the neighborhood kids.

“Well, can you at least tell me what I need to know about _your_ family?” Jamie asks. He’s fiddling with the complimentary pillow, trying to position his seat just right for a nap without reclining it onto the woman sitting behind him.

 “Ah,” Tyler says and then pauses. He can practically feel the words on the tip of his tongue, a physical weight that had been there since this morning. _Don’t say it._ “We don’t sleep in the living room on Christmas day. Just so you don’t get confused.”

Jamie freezes beside him. Tyler keeps flicking through the movie choices on the screen in front of him and doesn’t look his way. “Tyler, I didn’t mean to –”

Tyler waves Jamie’s contrition away, irritated with himself for being so petty. “You can sleep in the guest room and I’ll take the couch. I already texted my Mom that you didn’t feel comfortable sleeping in the same bed while we’re at their house.”

“You did _what_?” If Tyler didn’t know any better, he would think Jamie sounds insulted. “Why would you do that, Tyler?”

“Because my mom will _know_ , okay? I haven’t been able to keep a secret from her since I was ten years old. The fact that this whole,” he lowers his voice when a woman across the aisle glances their way, “ _thing_ we’ve got going on is still a secret from her is a goddamn Christmas miracle but she knows me, man. She knows I’m not like this.”

“Not _what,_ exactly?” Jamie hisses right back.

_Not the kind of person who sleeps where he’s not welcome,_ Tyler thinks. “Listen, okay? At least this way everybody’s happy.” Discussion settled, he turns back to the movie menu. “Do you think Jordie would get pissed if I snapchat all the Yukon Cornelius scenes to him?”

“Do whatever you want,” Jamie grunts and turns as far away from Tyler as he can in the cramped quarters. “I’m taking a nap.”

 

*

 

Jamie stays stubbornly silent the entire flight and ensuing ride through the snowy streets of Brampton. Everyone in the old neighborhood still has their Christmas lights turned on, twinkling reds and greens competing with each other against the harsh glare of the winter sun. After spending the last couple of days surrounded by the hecticness of the Benn’s decorations, Tyler’s own childhood home looks almost plain in comparison. There’s a wreath on the door, lights along the front porch, and two massive bows in the front windows. It’s understated and tasteful.

Tyler almost misses the life-sized nutcrackers.

Mrs. Seguin meets them at the door, ushering them in and dragging their coats off their shoulders. “Come here, let me take a look at you,” she says, grabbing Tyler by the cheeks and turning his face into the light. The last time she’d seen him had been after his wedding, although she didn’t know it at the time. He winces at the memory and she gentles her touch, smoothing down his facial hair.

“Merry Christmas, Mom.”

She must approve of whatever she sees because she presses a kiss to his forehead and turns towards Jamie. “So, you’re the man who stole my boy’s heart?”

Jamie swipes his hair back behind his ears, ducking his head. His posture practically screams _aw shucks._ “Yes, ma’am.”

“It’s so nice to _finally_ meet you! If I didn’t know better, I’d think that Tyler was trying to keep you all to himself down in Texas,” she says, taking Jamie by the arm and leading him into the living room. “Actually, did he ever tell you about how extraordinarily _possessive_ he was as a child?”

“Oh my god,” Tyler mutters, trailing behind them. “Where is everybody?”

Mrs. Seguin levels a look at him that clearly says _I know what you’re trying to do and I will not be deterred._ “Your father is buying some stuff for dinner and the girls are at their friends for the afternoon.” She smiles at Jamie’s furrowed brow. “He thinks I’m going to try to scare you off, dear.”

“ _Mom,”_ Tyler snaps but Jamie just laughs, holding up his left hand.

Without his gloves on, the silver of his ring catches the light from the bay window. He wiggles his fingers. “A little late for that, don’t you think?”

“Well,” Mrs. Seguin says, sounding pleased, like Jamie had just passed a test neither of them knew he would be taking, “how about you come on into the kitchen and I’ll drag out the _good_ family albums, then?”

 

*

 

“– and then he would tell all his teammates that he loved them when he hung up the phone. It lasted all the way up until he started with the Whalers, it was just the cutest thing!”

Tyler tries to bury his forehead a little more into the kitchen counter, groaning at Jamie’s delighted laughter. Any efforts to stop his mom from detailing Tyler’s innumerable childhood embarrassments had been in vain now that she had a willing audience. After the first hour Jamie had even taken out his phone in order to document the stories for “posterity” (a.k.a. blackmail) reasons.

“Oh, that’s rough.” Tyler lifts his head to see Candace standing in the doorway, grimacing at the piles of pictures surrounding Jamie and their mother. She points to a photo of him vomiting rather spectacularly on the ice the day he tried to play a peewee game with a stomach virus. “C’mon, Ty. It’s just going to get worse from there.”

Tyler takes the chance to escape, following Candace up the stairs and into his old bedroom. There’s still a feeling of discombobulation when he walks in expecting to see his hockey posters and broken-down old dresser and finds a nice neutral guestroom instead, but the moment passes quickly enough. Cassidy is sprawled out on the bed, still wrapped up against the December cold. Tyler takes a running start and lands on the bed beside her, sending her flying about six inches up, and then has to curl into a ball to defend himself against her retaliatory slaps.

“ _God,_ I didn’t miss you at all!” Cassidy huffs.

“Aw, Cassie, that’s just not nice,” Tyler whines.

“That’s what you get,” she says and stuffs a pillow over his face. Tyler tries to writhe out from underneath it and rolls off the bed, hitting the floor with a dull _thud_.

“Huh,” Candace says when no one immediately yells _stop that, I mean it!_ up the stairs at them. “I guess Mom must be pretty invested in her story time.”

“Oh, no,” Cassidy winces. “I _finally_ got Vic Moretti to ask me out and then Mom went and told him what happened at Cassandra’s birthday party last year and now he’s being _weird_!” She holds her phone close to Tyler’s face as if to demonstrate Vic’s said _weird-_ ness _._ There are so many new messages popping up in the group chat that Tyler doesn’t really understand what he’s reading, so he just nods sympathetically.

“So how are we going to play this?” Candace says and sits cross-legged in the armchair, her voice low.

“Play what?” Tyler asks, darting his eyes meaningfully from the partially open door to Cassidy. He thinks he’s being subtle, but if the way Cassie rolls her eyes is any indication, he doesn’t succeed.

“Dude, I told her right after you told me.”

“ _Really,_ Candy?”

“Oh yeah,” Cassidy says, tapping out something on her phone. “I was at a game but you better believe I came home early for that shit.”

“So,” Tyler groans, “you, Cassie, and Jordie all know?”

“And Jenny,” Candace says. “I got her number from Jordie and one thing led to another and…” She shrugs, unrepentant. “I thought she should know.”

Tyler stares up at the ceiling, the events of the last couple of days thrown into a different light with this new information. The way Jenny stared at him any time Jamie was around. The way she was friendly but still…distant. What could’ve been the beginnings of a friendship now ruined by the knowledge that she knew he was _using_ her brother. “What if she told someone else, Candace? Did you ever stop to think about that?”

“She’s their sister, Tyler,” Cassidy says, like it’s that simple. Maybe it is, if he put himself in their position: all of the siblings knowing a secret except for one. No one would want to be that odd man left out. Of course Jenny would never tell anybody else, but the situation has been steadily snowballing since that morning Officer Carter stepped into their condo, leaving Tyler clinging all the tighter to any scraps of control he can get.

“Fine,” he huffs. “Just consult me the next time you decide to make executive decisions concerning my sham marriage, okay?”

“Of course,” Candace says and Cassidy nods.

For some reason, Tyler doesn’t really believe them.

 

*

 

Christmas dinner has always been a big affair at the Seguin household, but with four hockey players in the house the sheer amount of food consumed veers nearly into the absurd. The quiet, sullen man from the plane has disappeared and Tyler sits on the couch, watching Jamie work his own shy kind of charm on his parents. Mrs. Seguin is clearly smitten and keeps trying to feed Jamie despite his complaints of being too full, while Mr. Seguin (who had arrived home sometime around the story of Tyler calling home crying because his car had broken down in the middle of nowhere and he was convinced he would get frostbite and never play hockey again) kept pulling Jamie away to ask his opinions on his latest renovation projects. Now that was a sign of approval if Tyler had ever seen one.

Everyone unanimously agrees to turn in early, drowsy from the hot food and the cold winter night. Mrs. Seguin manages to head Tyler off at the hall closet, plucking the extra blankets and pillow from his arms and shoving them back inside. “You’re not sleeping on the couch, Ty.”

“But Jamie –” he stutters.

“Jamie told me you wrote that because you were worried we wouldn’t _approve_ of him,” she wrinkles her nose at the word. “Jamie is a sweet and kind man and I can see how much he cares for you, Tyler. Besides, you’re not in high school anymore. You don’t have to follow the rules for when special friends sleep over.”

“I’ll go if you promise to never tell him _that_ story,” he mutters and trudges up the stairs just to save what remains of his dignity.

Jamie is already dressed for bed, his sleep pants riding low on his hips and a torn-up shirt thrown over his suitcase. He’s gotten skinnier as the season’s worn them down, his shoulders still just as broad but his waist a little narrower, the muscles more defined. When he looks up his eyes are dark and his hair is messy from running his hands through it and Tyler is struck speechless for a moment with the sweet ache that runs through him like electricity.

“So,” he finally says, his voice hoarse, “you okay with sharing the bed? Or I could just kip it on the floor.” The wood was hard but at least it was heated.

Jamie’s stare flickers to the bed and back. “You sure you want to sleep in the same bed as me?”

Tyler frowns. “I don’t have a problem with it if you don’t.”

Jamie huffs out a laugh, but there’s no real humor behind it. “Yeah, sure,” he says, gathering up his toiletry kit and trying to edge past Tyler to get to the hall bathroom.

Tyler steps back, pressing himself a little closer to the doorjamb. Jamie stops in his tracks. “Hey, man, what’s your problem? _You’re_ the one who told my mom that you wanted to sleep in the same bed.”

“I did not tell her that,” Jamie hisses, grabbing Tyler by the shirt and pulling him into the room. He swings the door shut behind them. “I told her that _you_ didn’t want to sleep in the same room which, by the way, is the _truth_.”

“Oh, really,” Tyler scoffs, “are we going by the Honesty Meter now? Cause if so, boy, do I got some news for you!”

Jamie just continues to glare at him. “I’m just saying that if you didn’t want to share a room with me, the least you could’ve done was not make me out to be the bad guy in the situation.”

“I did no such thing!” Tyler exclaims, ignoring Jamie’s fervid shushing. “I just didn’t know if you’d have a problem with it!”

“Well, I don’t!”

“Well, neither do I!”

The words sink in. Jamie shifts back on his heels, face flushing with the awkwardness. “Okay, then. I’ll just…” he trails off, gesturing towards the door.

“Yeah,” Tyler says and starts searching through his bags for some sleep pants.

He goes through his nightly ablutions on autopilot, not really letting himself think about what it means to sleep next to Jamie again. Or what it means that Jamie _wants_ to, too. He comes back to an already darkened bedroom, Jamie laying on his side facing the windows and the lamps turned off. Tyler slips into the bed as quietly as he can, even though he knows there’s no way Jamie could drop off that fast.

Almost thirty minutes later, Tyler is trying desperately not to fidget. When even staring at the reflections of the Christmas lights on the wall fail to distract him from Jamie’s warm weight beside him, Tyler sighs and starts to sit up.

A hand reaches out from the darkness, grasping him gently by the elbow. “Where are you going?”

Tyler startles and the hand quickly retreats. He barely stops himself from reaching out for it. “Nowhere. I just didn’t want to keep you up.”

There’s a deep sigh and the weight beside him shifts. “I’m sorry,” Jamie finally says, “I shouldn’t have said all those things.”

Tyler shakes his head and then, realizing Jamie can’t see him, clears his throat. “No. I should’ve asked if you were comfortable doing this rather than just…assuming you wouldn’t be.”

“Did we just have our very first married-people fight?” Jamie asks and Tyler snorts.

“Yeah, let’s never do it again.”

“Well, I can’t promise that,” Jamie whispers, tone conspiratorial. He reaches out, running his fingers down Tyler’s arm until he finds his hand and can lace their fingers together, palm to palm. The warmth of Jamie’s wedding ring feels like a brand against Tyler’s skin. “You see, I married a hockey player and we all know how stubborn they can be.”

Tyler’s laugh is tinged with just a touch of hysteria. He’s lying in bed in his home, holding the hand of his _husband_. It’s everything he’s ever dreamed of and yet so through a looking glass that he honestly wants to scream. “Should’ve married a different one then. Can we really be sure that Rous didn’t skip across the pond illegally?”

Jamie tightens his grip, squeezing to the point of discomfort. He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you really think I would do all of this for anyone else, Tyler?”

“Well, yeah,” Tyler mumbles and it’s like the darkness has turned off the filter between his brain and his mouth, “you’re the Captain.”

“I’m the _Captain_ ,” Jamie’s tone is so mocking that Tyler feels the heat rush to his face, “so of course I would marry one of my players. What’s a little fraud between coworkers?”

“Well, you don’t have to say it like that,” Tyler bites out, defensive. “I just meant that you would do this for any of the guys –

“No,” Jamie interrupts, quietly. “I really wouldn’t.”

Tyler leans closer, but he still can’t make out Jamie’s expression. “Why?”

“You know why, Tyler.”

“No,” Tyler says, frustrated, “I really don’t. What makes me so goddamn special?”

Jamie caresses the back of his hand, the stick callus on his thumb catching on the smoother skin. “Even you’re not that oblivious,” Jamie says, and he sounds so miserable that Tyler sidles a little closer until he can finally make out the fan of Jamie’s lashes. They lay there in silence, pressed together, sharing humid breath and body heat.

Tyler can feel himself starting to drift off, the gentle ghosting sweeps of Jamie’s touch and their combined warmth drawing him down. He fights against it, terrified to let the moment slip away from him. “Why me, Jamie?” he whispers, but Jamie doesn’t say anything, just edges closer until his head is on Tyler’s pillow. Even in this darkness Tyler can see his eyes and the crinkling around them as he smiles, sweetly.

“Because I see you, Tyler,” Jamie says and Tyler squeezes his eyes shut against the sting of tears and the wave of yearning that’s welling up inside of him. He so desperately wants Jamie to mean it the way Tyler _wants_ him to mean it. “Do you understand?”

“No,” Tyler exhales, his throat clogged with tears as he chokes out the word.

Jamie’s smile turns bittersweet, a little twist to his lips, and he places a hand tenderly on Tyler’s chest. Right over his heart. “Okay,” he says, “I’ll be right here when you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals
> 
> In all seriousness, though, I enjoyed writing this chapter. It's the longest one mainly because I didn't want to split the Benn/Seguin family visits up!
> 
> It took me over 21k words to finally introduce a single (1) dick into this fic. I don't know whether to be proud or horrified...
> 
> As always, your comments/kudos/subscriptions mean the world to me!


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